


The Planet of Undying Light

by cystemic



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: Assassins & Hitmen, Battle, Deception, Double Agents, Empire, Force Bond (Star Wars), Force Ghosts, Gen, Imperial Officers (Star Wars), Jedi, Murder, Sith, Sith Empire, The Force, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-22
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-07-16 14:34:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 37
Words: 94,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7272049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cystemic/pseuds/cystemic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>War. Danisla, a peaceful agroworld in the Outer Rim has been besieged by the Empire for near on three years. The people have been enslaved and forced to produce supplies and rations for the growing Imperial Army while the Sith Lord Freasch has set up camp in the Karossa valley to quell any rebellion and use the dead in his dark experiments with the Force.</p><p>A small Resistance movement consisting of the remaining Danislan National Guard and the remains of a single Republic platoon continue to fight against the overshadowing might of the Empire who have taken the capital, Caralis, for their own.</p><p>An unlikely scout named Erik Serth has ventured too close to the city and has been captured by Imperial forces. Imprisoned and starved for an unknown amount of time, Erik awaits his inquisitor and the inevitable torture for which they are infamous...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Captured

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little Fanfic about my Sith Inquisitor and Imperial Agent OCs on Bioware's MMO - Star Wars: The Old Republic. She's a darkness assassin and he's a marksmanship sniper on the Satele Shan Server.  
> Danisla is the planet where the story takes place, I made it up, at least I think I did.  
> I'm trying to stay within the boundaries of the Star Wars Extended Universe here so if you don't know much about the Jedi, the Sith, the Republic or the Empire, maybe go read about them first or play the game (it's f2p). I try to keep it as accessible as possible but some things about the universe I kind of assume you know.  
> Timeline is somewhere after the Hoth Inquisitor Arc and before the Hoth Imperial Agent Arc, approximately 3641BBY.  
> This fanfic is written purely for fun and I hope you enjoy it :)

A guard opened the door to his bleak little holding cell, shedding a fading light over his swollen face.  
  
They were moving him.  
  
Imperial troops had captured Erik before he could reach his speeder in time to return to the Resistance. Beaten unconcious, Erik woke up in prison, starving and left to stew in his own fears.  
  
He was merely a scout but he knew the location of the rebel base and they would surely torture him to find it. How much time had passed in the dank chamber of his misery?

He could not tell.

Surely, no more than a day?

But the darkness played tricks on the mind, exactly according to his captors' wishes.  
  
Two armored guards walked into the cell and grabbed him by the arms, pulling him up before he could stand or speak and dragged him out the door.  
  
Erik had spent the last few hours mentally preparing himself for torture. Some of the rebels spun stories in the cantina of custom-built droids, engineered to insert electrodes directly into your spine and shock you to within an inch of your sanity... if you were lucky.  
  
The more unfortunate prisoners were tortured by Sith Inquisitors - fearsome beings that spouted lightning from their fingertips and poison from their blades. They could rip open your very mind and create unending nightmares while they extracted the information they needed. The ordeal would end only when you were dead or the Inquisitor grew bored of your screaming.  
  
Erik was disinclined to believe such nonsense until he witnessed it for himself. Twisted and cruel, the Sith enjoyed the spectacle of their victims writhing in agony and terror. To compound the horror, they would often send broken prisoners, driven mad by the torture, back to their comrades to spread the message of fear. He'd seen enough broken men to know that the stories had to have at least a grain of truth to them.  
  
A Jedi once told Erik that long ago, the Sith had been part of their Order, cast out for abuse of the mystical power known as the Force. But in truth, he doubted they had come from anywhere but the deepest and darkest black hole in the galaxy. And now he cursed his own carelessness for being captured so easily after carefully avoiding detection for so long.  
  
The guards led him through a maze of dark corridors, turning every now and again on a beaten track. Drops of sweat began to trickle down his face and he realized that he wasn't prepared for what was to come.  
  
Erik had been an insurance broker before the Empire invaded Danisla, destroyed his branch, burned his city. He was gifted with numbers, not a blaster, and like many other citizens, he simply wasn't given a choice. The rebels had saved him and his family, provided them with food and shelter, protected them from the Empire. Many of his neighbours hadn't been so lucky and he joined the Resistance as a way of repaying them.  
  
Erik swallowed and tried to breathe evenly but terror was swelling in his chest. He resolved to hold out for as long as he could. He wouldn't give in to torture. He would remain true to the cause and the nobility of the thought made him feel a little better.  
  
Finally, they began to slow.

Their destined door appeared at the end of the hallway and he had a terrible feeling about what lay on the other side.

The prison was windowless, perhaps even underground and the halls were dark and unremarkable. His surroundings were familar but the Imperial insignia was emblazoned on every wall and he couldn't help but feel the prickle of panic in his heart.

Erik swallowed.  
  
The door in front of him slid open and he was shoved inside, falling face-first onto the cold, hard floor.  
  
Wincing, he sat up onto his knees, a feat which proved difficult with his hands bound behind his back. The door slid shut and Erik opened his eyes wide, peering into the darkness.  
  
A single spotlight flickered to life but didn't illuminate much of the torture chamber. It was a cell, similar to the one in which he'd been kept but there was additional room for an ominous-looking tilt-table. Erik caught the scent of dried blood and sweat wafting through the air, a parting gift from its previous victims. Binders and manacles dangled open from the table's corners and sharp, needle-like arms grew out of an assortment of machines attached to an eletrical generator.

He swallowed again and realized his mouth was dry. There was nothing to swallow.  
  
"Erik Serth," he heard his name whispered by a shadow sitting on a bench attached to the far wall.  
  
The voice was female, calm but cold.

Erik turned his head and stared at the shadow, squinting. As his eyes adjusted to the light, he began to make out a young woman with wild silvery hair. She was looking him over with curiousity and what he suspected was ill intent.  
  
Strange symbols were carved into her armour and sewn into her robes. Two large gemstones were chained atop her gloved hands, long silvery links disappearing into the folds of her garments. Wicked pauldrons covered her shoulders and even though she was wearing Sith livery, the customary floor-length skirts were missing, allowing her to sit with one leg crossed over the other. Plated boots caught the light as she turned to face him.  
  
She leaned forward, crossing her arms over her knee and allowed the feeble light to illuminate her ghostly pale face.

Erik felt himself drawn to her icy blue eyes, surrounded as they were by deep black shadows. They pierced through the darkness and burned into his mind, pouring fear down his spine.  
  
"Do you know where you are?" she asked him quietly.  
  
Erik tried to swallow his terror and forced himself to respond as best he could.  
  
"Uuu-uh an Imperial prison...?" he rasped, his voice unused since capture.  
  
The Sith lowered her grey brows without blinking, the intense artic blue freezing the blood in his veins.

She wasn't very old, certainly not older than Erik. Why was he so afraid?  
  
"Do you know who I am?" she asked.  
  
Erik took a closer look at her face. Sharp cheekbones and stern eyebrows framed her otherwise gentle features and faint scars from long-healed cuts showed signs of war and battle but he didn't recognize her.  
  
"Uh, a Sith...?" he said, trying to steady himself on his knees. He was shivering.  
  
She raised a mocking eyebrow at him. He hadn't said her name. Should he have known it? Would it have mattered? He swallowed again and tried not to stare, turning away but then slowly turning back. Her gaze had trapped him, paralyzing his body.  
  
"That's right," she continued casually, "I trust the reputation of the Sith precedes me and I don't have to elaborate on our predisposition towards violence and torture..." She made a sweeping gesture as if brushing dust off her robes.  
  
"I- I know what you do to..." he trailed off, remembering the stories.  
  
"And I understand that you've lived in Caralis for your entire life, is that correct?" She raised an eyebrow to ask. Erik felt like she knew more than she was saying, could she be reading his thoughts with those strange blue eyes?  
  
"Ye-yes," he croaked, desperately trying to break eye contact.  
  
"Never left the planet?" A superfluous question but with a hint of curiousity behind it.  
  
"N-no." Erik tried to look down. Undoubtedly, a little embarassed. In the Outer Rim, most worlds were independent or run by criminal syndicates, gangs and pirates. He had never wanted to visit any of them, not even on business.  
  
"And how well do you think you know this region, Master Serth?" She looked at him intently now. He wasn't sure where this was going but felt compelled to talk if it would delay the inevitable torture.  
  
"Quite well, I guess," he said with a little more confidence than intended, remembering all the trips he'd taken to the countryside with his wife before they'd settled down. He was an outdoorsman like most Danislans, fond of the lush green forests, crystal-clear lakes and breathtaking mountains that covered the planet's surface. Despite living in the city, Erik knew it well, making him an ideal rebel scout, albeit a poor soldier.  
  
"I see," she said, leaning forward slightly, curiousity dancing behind those big blue eyes as she spoke. "So you could tell me if there had been any large-scale excavation projects conducted in the past say, 30 years? Perhaps halted for inexplicable reasons...?"  
  
"Uuuh..." Erik tried to process the question. Excavation? Halted? Inexplicable? Not a second later, a thought crossed his mind.  
  
"Yes...there was a big project that was to drill into the mountain in the east but..." he paused.  
  
Was he giving too much away?  
  
No. The rebels didn't go anywhere near that mountain, no one did.  
  
"But...?" She raised both eyebrows and gazed at him intently. Her icy blue eyes began to muddy and change colour. An infusion of red into a perfect blue, like drops of blood in water.  
  
"...but they stopped after hundreds of people died. There was a cave-in, a few weeks into the project and lots of workers began mysteriously disappearing... Religious leaders decried it and people began to protest against further excavation before they awoke ancient evils or something stupid like that. The High Council voted to close it and recoup the losses to Czerka, no one is allowed near it now."

The words came out like blaster fire as Erik remembered handling the accounts of the company contracted to mine the ore from beneath Mt. Foane. They had lost so much money on insurance claims for the project that the resulting paperwork had consequently buried him in a bureaucratic nightmare. The whole thing made him so angry he just wanted to...  
  
Erik swallowed. Should he be revealing this? Surely, this must be important to the Imperials if a Sith was questioning him about it. But the Graveyard had been abandoned, even the rebels weren't desperate enough to hide in there.  
  
"They call it the Graveyard..." he said absently, "it's supposed to be haunted..."  
  
Erik watched as a wicked grin began to bloom on the young Sith's face and toxic rings of yellow circled her pupils. Something akin to malice took root in her voice as she spoke.  
  
"And what do they say this Graveyard is haunted by?" she breathed.  
  
Erik hesitated, distracted by the unnatural change in eye colour, still unable to look away. He took a ragged breath and watched it briefly form a cloud of vapour in the chilly air before dissipating. He remembered the ramblings of the miners he'd spoken to, their crazy talk of monsters and demons.  
  
Erik hadn't believed them, until now.  
  
"Evil spirits... ghosts... I don't think it's true but... nobody that went into those mines is still alive to tell about it," he confessed, feeling a little stupid for saying it aloud.  
  
There had been no logical explanation as to the dangers within the mountain. Months of debating and investigation had deemed it too dangerous for any workers or even droids to continue excavating. Those who returned from Mt Foane and claimed their insurance went mad or committed suicide within weeks of appeal, overwhelming him with additional paperwork and red tape.  
  
"And you know the location of this Graveyard?" she hissed.  
  
"Y-yes..."  
  
Erik was still entranced by those demonic eyes which burned so brightly in the chilling darkness. He could feel the dread crawling up his spine. But then for the very first time, she looked away, and Erik felt the sudden release from her invisible grip. She raised a hand and rested her chin on her palm, deep in thought.  
  
Relief washed over him and his fear subsided for a moment before being replaced with anxiety. Erik didn't know what she was going to do with this information but anything the Sith had planned, couldn't be good. His heart sank as he thought of his family. Now that she had what she needed, his death was assured.  
  
Tears welled up in his eyes and he shut them tight, trying to hold back. He began mentally farewelling his wife and children and the thought of never seeing them again drove daggers into his heart. At least he hadn't revealed the location of the rebel base. He'd take that secret to the grave. It was going to be alright. He would die protecting them.  
  
Erik took a deep breath to steady himself, sending another cloud of vapour misting through the air. His eyes found the young Sith who'd so casually forgotten he was there, lost in some dark thoughts of her own.  
  
"Are you going to kill me?" he asked, resigned to his fate.  
  
She was silent for a moment but then turned to look at him again. Her eyes were an icy blue once more and her twisted smile was gone. Erik felt uneasy from her sudden mood swings which seemed to physicially manifest themselves. He felt naked and exposed and so very very cold.  
  
"No," she said. "You have been most helpful, Erik. In fact, I'm going to offer you a deal."  
  
Erik didn't know what to say but his stunned expression must have said it for him as she spoke again.  
  
"I am here on personal business and I require the knowledge of a local to proceed. Alas, when I arrived, Imperial Intelligence couldn't even tell me the location of the rebel base, let alone this Graveyard you speak of," she explained, mocking her own subordinates. The young Sith stood up and her hands slowly disappeared behind her, clasping together and straightening her back. She was taller than he thought.  
  
"Which is why I wished to speak with you..." she paused and looked away as if she'd heard a distant sound.  
  
"They will be here soon. To interrogate you," she paused again, contemplating something for a moment before speaking. "In exchange for the location of this Graveyard, I am willing to spare your life. You have a family, don't you? I can promise all of you amnesty and a new start in the capital, assuming you defect to the Empire..."  
  
Erik stared at her in disbelief.  
  
Was she joking? Was she reading his mind with her Sith sorcery?  
  
He suddenly felt a crushing wave of home-sickness sweep over him. He longed for his house in Caralis where his children would play in the garden. For the bed he shared with his wife and the simple life he had lived before the war. He longed for the fight to be over, he longed to go home. Could this young Sith be his ticket back there?  
  
But the wave soon abated as he realized that she was the calm before the storm. A young, inexperienced lackey who thought to take advantage of him while he was detained. They didn't know she was here. They were still coming to torture him, kill him. Erik hadn't betrayed anyone yet but was this his chance to stay alive? Could he trust her?  
  
"I see you're having some trouble deciding where your allegiance lies," she continued. "Make no mistake, the Empire will break you and get what they need, either way."  
  
She wasn't threatening him, simply stating the fact. Erik tried desperately to read her intentions but her face betrayed nothing, perhaps only the smallest drop of pity that she could easily sweep aside.  
  
He couldn't swallow it. For who could ever trust the word of a Sith?  
  
"I-I can't-" Erik began to mumble but was interrupted as the door slid open and the real Sith Inquisitor stepped inside.  
  
A deathly hue covered his face and dark veins spidered up his neck and across his fat, bald head. His lavish crimson-black dressings were visibly overstuffed with the girth of his grotesquely fat body and the robes trailed on the floor as he trudged forward. A head taller than the young Sith, his presence filled the room with a powerful, dark essence, hatred seeping out of every pore.  
  
The Sith Inquistor looked at them with a bloodshot, murderous gaze and Erik felt his heart wrench. This was it, this was his executioner.  
  
But he seemed to look right past him, instead walking over to the tilt-table which remained undisturbed and put his hands on his hips.  
  
"WHERE IS THE PRISONER?!" he bellowed to the guard outside.  
  
The feeble light created a dark silhouette of his immense body, making him look even bigger from behind.  
  
Erik turned to look at the young Sith who seemed unmoved by the Inquisitor's sudden appearance. In fact, she stood quite still, rolling her eyes.  
  
"I-I'm sorry, my lord, he must have been returned to his cell," said the disgruntled officer.  
  
"Well then, GO AND FETCH HIM!" the Inquisitor growled.

"AND STOP WASTING MY TIME!" he bellowed.  
  
The corpulent Inquisitor moved dangerously close to where Erik was huddled and the young Sith was standing.  
  
But before he could make contact, she yanked Erik up onto his feet and marched him out of the room before the door slid shut. Sparks of electricity sizzled beneath it, followed by a muffled roar that echoed out into the hallway. Erik thanked his lucky stars that he wasn't in that room anymore and let the young Sith lead him out of the prison, keeping his mouth shut.  
  
She moved very quickly and Erik almost tripped several times, leaving him dangling from the vice grip she held around his neck with her long fingers. They walked past numerous security guards and Imperial soldiers who paid them no mind, slipping out of the prison and into the main building.  
  
Erik quickly realized that his footsteps were not making any sound and when he glanced beneath him, there was no shadow to be seen.  
  
They marched straight through Imperial Headquarters, passing delegates, officers and even Sith Lords without turning a single head. Suspecting mystical forces at work, Erik's mind quickly jumped at the idea of escape but he was in the heart of Imperial territory and his hands were bound, not to mention the Sith who was leading him by the scruff of his neck.  
  
He glanced over at the young woman but her eyes remained focused on the way ahead, still an icy blue. They left through the massive gates of the citadel that Erik finally recognized as the former High Council Chambers and snuck out into the night.


	2. Out of the fire

Danisla's twin moons were full and bright as she led him down the steps of the citadel. The Empire's occupation of Caralis City did not interrupt their orbit or the light they reflected from Danis, the system's central star.  
  
For half of Danisla's solar cycle, the evening moonslight was almost as bright as the sun during the day. Off-worlders would call it 'the Planet of Undying Light' but only because they never stuck around long enough to experience the other half of the cycle when torrential rains would drench the world in much needed nourishment, revitalising the ground for the new year's harvest.  
  
It would be soon, Erik could tell.  
  
The rains were coming.  
  
Moonslight fell upon them and reflected off the steps of the now _Imperial_ Citadel. Erik turned to look at the young Sith, fearing they would quickly be spotted and apprehended but the few Imperial soldiers posted to the Capital Square continued to ignore them. The historical monuments that had once decorated the square were gone, carted off with the rest of the rubble that remained of Caralis after the bombings. Imperial banners hung from the remaining buildings and servicemen were posted sparsely throughout the plaza.  
  
The young Sith held onto the collar of his shirt tightly with her right hand as they descended the grand staircase that led to the Citadel.  
  
Erik swallowed. One false step and it wouldn't be the fall that killed him.  
  
Anxiety ate away at his heart as they passed an Imperial soldier guarding each landing of the staircase. Surely, they couldn't miss the Sith and the prisoner right in front of them. Surely, he would be recognized, captured and dragged back to his bleak little holding cell but he wasn't. And the young Sith beside him showed no signs of strain or difficulty in maintaining the illusion that kept them hidden but he could still see her.  
  
The moonslight highlighted her snowy white hair and her skin seemed even more pale than before, perhaps even faintly blue. He caught sight of her brilliant blue eyes and realized that the dark shadows he had mistaken for skin and makeup were actually cybernetic implants. Prosthetic eyelids made of dark black polymer domes were screwed into her face, blinking mechanically in identical increments of time. Erik quickly turned away in horror, trying not to imagine the person who had cut off her eyelids. He felt himself about to wretch and quickly swallowed to maintain his silence.  
  
One final flight of stairs later, they made a sharp turn, leaving the square as quickly as they had entered. She led him down several winding streets to a quiet alley where two shady figures stood leaning against a couple of sleek, black speeders. The young Sith brought Erik before them and his eyes widened as he looked upon the unlikely pair.  
  
They weren't at all human.  
  
A female Togruta with orange skin and long blue montrals stepped forward to greet them. White markings decorated her face and what appeared to be Jedi robes hid the rest of her tall, slender form. She smiled at Erik and he felt himself relax.  
  
"So you've returned..." she said to the young Sith behind his back. "And it looks like you got what you wanted." She nodded towards Erik who blinked at the off-worlder.  
  
The second stranger slumped out of the shadows and towered over the Togruta. He was a huge, grey, humanoid hulk with a wicked looking blade at his back and a loincloth covering his nether regions. Three streaks of red skin-paint passed over his shoulder and across his bulky, muscular chest like the claw marks of a huge animal and his face was set into a terrifying scowl. Erik could not even hope to guess his origins but when he spoke in his alien dialect, Erik's translator still did its job.  
  
"You're late, little Sith," he grumbled impatiently.  
  
"Were you two worried about me?" said the young Sith sarcastically.  
  
"I was more worried about him," said the Togruta, pointing at Erik.  
  
He felt the binders around his hands loosen and fall to the ground.  
  
Rubbing the ache from his wrists, Erik turned just as the Sith walked past him, marching towards a nearby speeder. She rummaged around in one the storage compartments and pulled out a familiar woolen cloak.  
  
Jedi?  
  
"Oh, thank the stars! Jedi. I thought I was done for..." Erik sighed with relief.  
  
Finally, it all made sense. These Jedi Knights had orchestrated a daring rescue by having one of them pose as a Sith Lord. Ingenious. The Republic had finally sent aid to the Resistance, perhaps they were already on their way to take the capital by storm. His heart brimmed with renewed hope and he allowed himself to smile.  
  
But the young Sith turned to look at him with one eyebrow raised. "I'm no Jedi," she said, handing him the cloak.  
  
"Here, I'm sure Ashara won't mind you using it," she gave the Togruta an indignant smile.  
  
Erik's heart sank. He opened his mouth to say something but words wouldn't come. He turned to the Togruta who was unmistakeably dressed in Jedi garb, lightsaber dangling from her belt. Surely she...  
  
"Don't look at me, friend. I'm not the Jedi you're looking for," she said. "My name is Ashara Zavros. And this is Lord Kallig." She gestured towards the Sith who crossed her arms and threw Ashara a poisonous look.  
  
The Togruta smirked and added "Which you would know if she ever bothered to introduce herself."  
  
Erik froze. He didn't know what to think. He clutched at the cloak like a newborn at a blanket, hoping it would protect him from all the dangers and uncertainties of this world. But it did not.  
  
Lord Kallig rolled her eyes and tisked.  
  
"What would be the point of an assassin everyone knew by name? What matters is that he is here. _Alive,"_ she emphasized that last word, followed by a motorized blink of her prosthetic eyelids.  
  
"Yes, I can see that. And how did Inquisitor Levinus take it?" Ashara asked accusingly, sensing trouble in her undertone.  
  
"I don't know, I didn't stick around to find out. He walked right in on us," the Sith replied with a small grin.  
  
"You mean you just walked him out?! Right under his nose?!" Ashara raised her palms up incredulously. "We talked about this, you could have negotiated his release, offered him protection! Instead, you just decided to kidnap him?!"  
  
"I didn't have time for diplomacy. I needed him, so I took him," Lord Kallig replied callously. "I don't have your Jedi mind tricks to help me convince everyone in the galaxy to commit treason."  
  
"It's called Force Persuasion and it's a lot more humane than torturing innocents to get what you want!" the Togruta argued.  
  
"Who said anything about torture?!" she spat.  
  
"You're telling me he came with you of his own free will?!"  
  
Erik couldn't believe it. A Sith and a Jedi bickering in front of him like children while a grey monstrousity looked on, unamused. He tried to process what they were saying but his brain misfired and all he could do was let it happen.  
  
"Maybe you're right," the Sith replied quietly. "Maybe it is more humane to brainwash people into agreeing with you..."  
  
A cold anger rose within her voice and her icy blue eyes faded into a muddy red, then yellow. She turned to look at Ashara directly.  
  
"Unfortunately, I am a Sith Lord and all the methods of persuasion available to me are excrutiatingly painful and deadly. So _excuse me,_ for considering kidnapping a rebel spy to be the better alternative!"  
  
Ashara folded her arms, unafraid of her companion's terrifying gaze which had reached its demonic zenith.  
  
"And what happens when you don't need him anymore? Are you just going to use him up and hand him back to the Empire like a dish rag? Or better yet, murder him in cold blood for helping you find your little ghost friend?!" she jabbed hotly, clearly outraged by Lord Kallig's attitude.  
  
"I will do what I want," the Sith replied angrily. "End of discussion."  
  
She turned to Erik who could feel his knees buckling as she approached. The whites of her eyes had turned black and vanished inside the mechanized eyelids. All he could see were the glowing yellow irises staring down at him as she spoke with a chilling force.  
  
"You. Are going to take me to this _'Graveyard'_."  
  
Erik temporarily forgot how to breathe, desperately trying to swallow but that didn't work either. Finally, he nodded in agreement and she turned away from him.  
  
"Ashara, go back to the ship. Khem, with me." She pulled a helmet out of the side-car of a nearby speeder and gestured for Erik to get in.  
  
Too terror-stricken to argue, Erik took a short, ragged breath of air and put on the cloak he was holding. He hurried over to the speeder and climbed into the side-car.  
  
Lord Kallig opened the back of the metal helmet which split into two halves on a latch. She slipped it on and her silvery white hair was sucked into its inner workings. The back snapped shut behind her head and her face was replaced with the terrifying countenance of an ancient Sith design. He could hear her breathing being distorted through the mouth-piece as she mounted the speeder and switched it on.  
  
Erik looked around in time to see Ashara grimace angrily at the back of Lord Kallig's head. He couldn't imagine the circumstances under which they had become allies.  
  
Was she working for the Imperials now? Was she even a Jedi anymore?  
  
The monster called Khem revved up the other speeder and nodded to Kallig. She nodded too and unleashed the full throttle of the vehicle, throwing Erik's head back against the seat. He saw Ashara slowly turn and walk away as they sped out of view. He had felt slightly safer with her around, even if she hadn't been the Jedi he was looking for.   
  
Now his fate rested on the whim of this strange Sith Lord who'd spirited him away. He secretly wished it had been Ashara on the second speeder and not some big brute with excessive protruding fangs but thought better than to voice his opinion to Lord Kallig.  
  
Weaving their way through the streets, Erik observed what had become of his city.  
  
Much of Caralis was still covered in craters from the initial aerial assault but many buildings had survived the bombardment and were repurposed or rebuilt by the Imperials. As they passed through the residential suburbs on the city's outer rings, Erik found himself peering into the small houses now occupied by Imperial colonists and their families.  
  
Life went on in Caralis, Empire or Republic but the number of occupied homes was miniscule compared to the amount of life Erik remembered. As they rode through the residential districts and entered the outermost ring of East Caralis, not a soul could be seen or heard within the ghostly remains of suburbia.  
  
Erik sat back, mourning the missing Caralisians, both dead and displaced.  
  
They soon approached the Eastern Gates of the city but the guards paid them no mind as the speeders glided silently out into the night. They sped across the tall bridge beyond and into the horizon.  
  
"Where are we heading?" Lord Kallig asked him. Her voice was an unrecognizable, synthesized growl thanks to her eerie helmet.  
  
Erik looked around to gain his bearings, quickly spotting _'The Spear of Osida'_ constellation he frequently used to navigate around Caralis' outer territories. It directed him to a distant waypoint just before clouds rolled over the first moon, Fey and then covered its twin, Vela, leaving the world in darkness.  
  
"East," he said "20 kliks, there'll be a valley, then North".  
  
The deafening roar of the speeder filled his ears and the rush of the wind beat against his face, his hair flying back as the magical concealment around them was broken. Now their only protection was the cover of night as they rode towards the distant Graveyard, unsure of what the morning would bring.  
  



	3. Indecision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lord Kallig has spirited Erik away from Caralis and now they ride towards the dreaded Graveyard. But what will happen to him once they reach their destination?

It was almost dawn when they reached the base of Mt Foane. Erik had guided them begrudgingly to the Graveyard's approximate location. He was not a superstitious man by nature but the reputation of that hated dig-site made him uncomfortable. He shuddered at the thought of being dragged in by a rogue Sith Lord and done away with. Or worse, trapped with whatever evils lay dormant inside. 

The two speeders traced the path left by the excavation crew, swerving to avoid debris and long-abandoned mining equipment. A chill spread beneath the mountain's shadow and clouds of vapor formed from their warm breath. Frost slowly crept up the surface of the speeder and a sharp wind whipped their faces, moaning and howling like the tortured souls supposedly trapped beneath the mountain. 

Erik pulled the woollen cloak around him tightly, using the hood as a buffer from the wind and cold. Lord Kallig and her alien companion however, seemed unperturbed and showed no sign of discomfort despite the degrading conditions. 

Erik looked at the Sith astride her vehicle, the tails of her robes flying in the wind. Dark armour and clothing hid her femininity and the macabre helmet robbed her of any humanity she may have possessed. He could have mistaken her for a man, if he'd not seen her face. Truly, he would not have thought she was human at all. 

Erik turned away. He had been toying with the idea that she could read his mind since the torture chamber. And after turning them invisible in the midst of Imperial forces, was it a stretch to believe that she could be listening to him think? 

Did she know how confused he was? How hungry? How tired? Had she seen glimpses of the rebel base flash through his mind? Did she care? Her only motivation seemed to be the Graveyard and she had been willing to commit treason to get there. What did she hope to find inside those hated caverns? Why had she offered him amnesty in return for its location? Why had she offered him a way home?

Erik's heart tore at the seams when he thought of his little house on the same street and in the same neighbourhood he had grown up in. He'd spent years saving up to buy it, years renovating to fix it, years living within its walls to raise his family. He wondered if it was still whole, occupied by some Imperial troops or colonists. Or perhaps it wasn't even there at all.

Erik had been in the financial district getting lunch when the bombs fell. The building he had worked in for 15 years crumbled and shook, flames spouting from its shattered windows as it buckled and fell apart before him.

Fire and smoke left him blinded and disoriented but he ran, he ran as fast as he could. Pieces of debris rained down from the sky as the bombs continued to fall and the attack intensified. He remembered the people around him screaming, shouting, running, and so did he. Most of them didn't make it out of the district and were trapped in the chaos, unable to escape.

Erik was lucky, if it could be called luck. An unfortunate youth had been struck in the head while riding his speeder and crashed not far from the district gate to which Erik had escaped. The boy's body had flown off and landed awkwardly on his head, neck snapped, life gone, leaving a slightly battered speeder for Erik to find. 

He'd clambered on and driven home faster than he ever thought possible. Past demolished buildings, mutilated corpses, uncontrollable fires and panicked civilians. He didn't stop to help, didn't look back, he looked only towards his destination, to his home. The further from the financial district he rode, the less destruction crossed his path until finally the deafening sound of distant explosions was the only evidence of any danger that threatened the city.

The speeder took him swiftly through the metropolitan districts to the outskirts where a great gate beckoned to the residential areas beyond. They were split into three rings that circled around the inner city. The upper class lived closest to the inner walls with some mansions towering over the smaller spacescrapers within it. The middle and lower classes fell in behind them with modest homes that neither preened elegance nor purveyed poverty. 

Erik's home was on the edge between the middle and lower rings. He'd consciously chosen to remain there even after being promoted several times. On arrival, the house seemed undisturbed, as did the entire neighbourhood. Not a soul to be found in the once bustling street. He left the stolen speeder to its fate and cautiously opened the door of his home.

"Bara?" he'd called out surreptitiously, wary of the uncanny silence. "Sadi?... It's me..." 

No answer.

It was empty. A few items were missing but nothing suggested a struggle or a decided departure.

He picked up a small holo-cube, flickering through different recordings of his children when he heard noises coming from outside the house. The bombs had ceased detonating in the distance and Erik could hear men speaking indistinctly. Using the security terminal connected to the front door, he saw soldiers herding terrified civilians away from the city center. It was the National Guard, clad in yellow plated armour bearing the Danislan cross.

Erik hastily made his way to question the soldiers evacuating the city but was instead thrust into the river of refugees. They spilled out through the southern gate of the city and into the underground tunnels. Moments later, the aerial bombardment recommenced. This time it fell on the residential area above the tunnel, blocking the entrance and leaving thousands of citizens trapped or crushed within the walls of the city limits.

Unable to return or to help, they escaped and Erik spent a nerve-wracking two weeks amongst the sea of refugees, searching for his family until hope reunited them once again. But it was far from a happy ending. 

They shortly learned that the Sith Empire had invaded Danisla, intent to conquer the world for its abundant agricultural resources to fuel its expanding army. Most of the farmland was taken without resistance and when the city fell, no quarter was given to what little Republic troops and soldiers from the National Guard remained. 

They were overpowered and outmanoeuvred. Their only choice was to hide and strike covertly as much as opportunity allowed. At the same time, tens of thousands of refugees needed food and water and shelter which soon became scarce outside the growing Imperial territory. 

Erik closed his eyes, he could still feel the tremors of impact shudder beneath him as the bombs fell on the city. Dare he dream of a time when he might once again return to that place? 

The young Sith had given him the most unpleasant gift of hope. Would it be so bad to work for the Imperials? Numbers were numbers, right? Everyone needed financiers, economists. But what of the senseless slaughter of the rest of his people? Would he be able to live with it? The Sith rarely took prisoners. His had been a special case. Strange even. Bizarre. 

_"Home,"_ he thought to himself.

Did she mean it? Would she honour her words if he accepted her terms? Or was he speeding towards his demise at the pointy end of a lightsaber? 

Ashara had asked Lord Kallig if she intended to simply hand him over to the Imperials once his usefulness expired and he pondered the possible answer to that question as they rode. 

Erik felt so powerless. He looked down at his hands, half-concealed by the woollen cloak she had given him. A useless gesture, considering her immense powers of stealth. He sighed, yet another thing he didn't understand about the Sith. No, about her.

They began to slow and a big maw opened up in the side of the mountain, resembling the mouth of some giant creature craning to swallow them. Erik shuddered. Two hundred and forty seven people had died in those mines. Not a single scrap of ore had been removed. They were abandoned. Untouched. 

Lord Kallig pulled up onto a ridge overlooking the entrance, powered down the speeder and alighted from the vehicle. Her creature companion pulled up next to her and dismounted as well. She walked over to the edge of the small plateau and looked out over the precipice. 

Watching, waiting. 

Fractals of frost formed on her ghostly helmet and the wind continued to howl, jostling her robes. They flew wildly to the side and Erik wondered how she could stand there so still. Immovable. 

"I can sense a presense inside," she said finally, "but it is deep. And there's something else..."  
  
"At any rate, we'll have to make our way down into the bowels of the cave system."

The grey creature strolled over to her side and folded its arms.

"I will feast upon the Force-sensitive creatures inside," he grumbled in his alienese.

Lord Kallig drew a lightsaber from within her robes and unleashed its red blade with a deadly hum. She made to walk off the edge and Erik realized that she was going to jump down into the deep shaft below, leaving him alone in the middle of this cursed place. 

"Wait!" he cried as her left boot hovered above the precipice. 

Kallig stopped, returned her foot to land and turned to face Erik who had stayed inside the speeder. He wasn't sure what to say next but he definitely didn't want to be left alone out there. 

Joints stiff and aching, he clambered out of the side-car and limped awkwardly to face her.

If she was going to kill him, he'd rather it be now than at the hands of whatever horrors lurked within the mines. He shuddered as the inevitability of death flooded through him. The tiny flicker of hope he had nourished, quickly faded as he looked upon his captors. The red glow of the lightsaber only intensified his fear of the Sith and he could think of nothing to do but fall to his knees and offer up his head for the kill.

Erik waited.

But the blow didn't come. 

"You can go," she dismissed him and turned to leave.

"W-what?!" Erik stammered and stood up. 

She paused for a moment but didn't turn back.

"You have done as I asked. If you wish, you may take the single speeder and ride to wherever you choose. But know that my offer still stands. Should you wish to return to your city as a citizen under the Empire, I will do as I have promised," she spoke calmy but the mask distorted her speech, transforming her words into a threatening growl.

Hope clawed at Erik's chest again as he listened. Was she testing him? Would she try to kill him if he took the speeder and rode back to the rebels? Would she follow him to find the location? Had this been a ruse? If he accepted her offer, would she end him there and then? He tried to imagine those cold, blue eyes, that pale face.

"You play with your food like a child, Little Sith. Kill him and be done with it," Khem growled, obviously impatient with his master's whims. "Or I will."

Fear gripped Erik again as he thought of the multitudes of Sith itching to rip his mind to shreds for a chance to find the Resistance. Starting with this big grey creature, who knows how many obstacles stood between him and his home even with the young Sith as an ally. 

An impossible dream. He had been foolish in even considering it. He had drowned in the shallow pool of hope that Kallig had poured out in front of him and lost all sense of reality. Erik was a pragmatic, reasonable, loyal man and he would continue to be one now. 

"I'm afraid I m-must decline." he said rather shakily. He didn't know what kind of response this would elicit. But there was none, she just stood there, lightsaber humming in the wind. 

Erik turned and walked over to the single speeder. He mounted it, switched it on and glanced back at the young Sith. Without hesitation, she stepped over the edge of the precipice and was gone. Her bestial companion followed soon after. 

Without them, Erik felt the cold chill of fear and death that permeated the Graveyard. He soon made a hasty escape, riding hard to put the place behind him. When he was out of sight, Erik stopped and hid behind a large outcrop of rock. 

He stood up on the seat of the vehicle and looked out from behind cover. He could see the other speeder Lord Kallig had left behind. 

So he waited. 

A minute. 

Two. 

Then five. 

When he was certain she would not return, he sat back down and took the deepest breath he had ever taken. He was alive. Still alive. And he was going home.

Erik rode away. Free.


	4. Sanctuary

Noon. He'd left the mountains and the hills behind and drove deep into the forest, carefully skirting around the Imperial Outpost nearby. Sunlight streamed down through the canopy, littering the ground with flecks of gold. Despite the dense vegetation, it was enough to see the subtle waypoint markers which guided the rebels back to base. 

Erik was excited to see his family again, to hold his wife and hug his children, who he loved more than anything. Captured without warning and missing for days, they would have been worried sick. 

Bara had never fully supported his decision to join the Resistance. As a scout, he was never fighting the Empire head on, but always watching, always in danger of being spotted. Bara would take this opportunity to tell him so. She would try to convince him to give it up, to let more experienced men handle the fighting but she never could. 

Erik could not sit idly by, accepting the Resistance' handouts, waiting for the war to end. The Republic may have given up on Danisla but he still dreamed of returning to Caralis one day.

His thoughts turned to the Resistance leader, Captain Kraglus Delwitt and his right hand man, Lieutenant Nordren Mada, who'd sent Erik to scout so close to the city. He would have to report to them as soon as he arrived. 

Would they believe a Sith helped him escape? And then let him go? Offered him a way home? And what of Jaeden Vae'lo? The young Jedi had rallied with the rebels when the Empire invaded. Vae'lo had come to defend Danisla despite the Treaty of Coruscant calling all Republic forces to withdraw. He would probably be the least receptive to the idea of a merciful Sith, particularly after what happened to his master...

Erik began to run through the scenario in his head, choosing his words carefully, swapping out phrases to downplay certain Sith personalities but the more he thought about it, the more he pictured Nordren and the Krag laughing in his face. Perhaps it would be better to lie, make something up. Pretend he'd gone to a bar and drunk so much he'd been too hungover to return for three days. But there were almost no cantinas free of Imperial scrutiny with exception of the Sanctuary. 

Erik considered the lies he could tell but finally decided that the truth was far more important. He had been inside the Imperial Citadel, the closest any scout had even come to Caralis since the war began. He'd seen their guards, their fortifications, their transports and weapons, even the district now occupied by colonists. This information would be invaluable to the Resistance. He had to tell them, no matter the absurdity. 

He was close now. 

Insects buzzed angrily as he flew past them, forcing him to spit whenever one got too close to his mouth. 

The Resistance was hidden inside a large underground research complex, designed to monitor the entirety of the forest and its animal life. It had been an Ithorian Sanctuary for botanists and zoologists to cultivate and study the flora and fauna of the planet but now it preserved the last remaining spark of rebellion on Danisla against the encroaching Empire.

He slowed down as he approached a small clearing, the canopy of the trees was thick in this part of the forest and it was much darker here. He came to a stop near an outcrop of prickleweed and dismounted. The thorny bush grew rapidly in these parts and would quickly swallow the vehicle whole, covering his tracks. Erik combed back his hair with his fingers, trying to sort through the tangled mess the wind had made of it.

From here, the path grew narrow and he had to walk a considerable distance through the brush before he reached the so-called entrance. 

Prickly barbs caught on his cloak and tore its hem as he trudged through the forest floor. Erik tapped a few trees, testing their density until his fingers identified the hollow counterfeit. He placed his hand on what appeared to be a lower hanging branch and felt the machine inside it scan his palm and fingers. A metal trapdoor, covered in soil and moss, slid open and he walked down the staircase into the compound.

The intrepid insurance broke made his way through the grey permacrete halls of the base. It had been built to house thousands of scientists and researchers and fully equipped laboratories for their experiments. 

The small passage he entered was one of the furthest from the Main Atrium. Once used to monitor a certain species of mammalian quadruped that fed on the prickleweed bushes, it served as a covert entrance for rebels returning from missions. 

Erik breathed a little easier, knowing he was back in safe territory. He greeted everyone who walked by with a big smile as he made his way to the heart of the Sanctuary. 

The Main Atrium was a large area that had become the hub of both military operations and everyday necessities. Food stalls and war tables, star-charts and medical tents stretched out along the vast white space which had greyed and turned a dirty beige from excessive use. Rebels and refugees bustled throughout the market-like set-up and several people approached Erik as he entered. 

"Hey, Erik! It's Erik!" someone called out. Soldiers came from all sides and patted him on the back. "Good to see you!" they said, or "Thought we'd lost you!". 

He tried to spot his family amongst the crowd but found his friend Gav instead. 

Gavinn Troik was a lanky man, full of good humour. He was a scout too but unlike Erik, he knew how to handle a blaster in a firefight. Gav ran up to Erik and shook his hand vigorously, pulling him into a bear hug. 

"I knew you were still alive, buddy!" he said, releasing his friend and grinning ear to ear. 

"Where have you been? You know what? Doesn't matter. The Krag wants to see you. Debriefing and all." He led Erik away by the shoulder.

"You will not believe half of it, Gav," Erik told his friend. "Have you seen Bara? My kids? Are they alright?"

"They're fine. Worried to pieces, Bara is, but they're fine. They'll be glad you're back," Gav reassured him.

Erik put his mind at ease, knowing they were safe was already a great comfort, even if he hadn't seen them yet. They walked through the crowded Atrium and out into a large hallway that led to the War Room. Initially, it had been designed as the centre of the facility's security system but when the Krag and his rebels commandeered the base, it was rechristened to meet his need for dramatic effect. 

The room itself was more of a hall, with dozens of viewscreens covering the walls, displaying tactical maps, security footage and more. In the centre was a raised octagonal platform that housed several control panels. The highest ranking officers would use it to observe all operations within the War Room and brief the rebels on their missions. 

It was here that the Krag stood, leaning against the railing. 

He was a soldier, tall and muscular, with a brick-like chin that nobly protruded an inch in front of his face. Kraglus Delwitt had been a Captain in the Danislan National Guard. Many of his superiors had become leaders of the Resistance before him but all had perished in unfortunate skirmishes, sneak attacks, assassinations and more, fighting against the Empire. After his predecessor, Major Gol Pratos, fell in a hopeless battle for supplies at Rothankas, the Krag suddenly found himself in charge of the remaining rebels and refugees.

With the aid of his good friend and Lieutenant, Nordren Mada, he was able to provide thousands of Danislans with food and shelter by splitting his forces between several Ithorian research compounds. Mada had discovered them through thorough investigation of Danisla's planet-wide land registry and sent scouts to verify their existence. Erik was the one he had sent to find the base they were all standing in. A high point in a war that seemed unwinnable. 

Mada stood beside the Krag, fiddling with a datapad. He was shorter than his muscly friend, an average man with a long nose, cunning features and dark hair. His brains had kept operations running and succeeding where brawn had failed them. They both looked at Erik as he approached the central platform with Gav. All heads turned to watch.

"Serth! Where Have You Been?" the Krag boomed. "You Were Due Back Three Days Ago."

"I'm sorry, sir," Erik apologized, rubbing his head sheepishly as Gav patted him on the shoulder. 

"Let's hear your report, Erik," Mada said at a more acceptable volume. 

"Yes, sir. I was scouting west of the capital as you ordered when an Imperial platoon caught me from behind. They didn't believe my cover story and knocked me out," Erik began recounting the tale he'd tried to rehearse on the way there, "I was taken to the Imperial Citadel and thrown in prison where I was... I was..."

"Tortured?" Mada suggested quietly. 

"Questioned," Erik decided, "...by a Sith Lord."

The men and women in the War Room began to whisper amongst themselves. Erik saw Gav tighten his fists, he'd lost many friends to their savagery. Then, as if summoned by the very mention of the word 'Sith', Jaeden Vae'lo entered the War Room from an adjacent exit and leaned against one of the holoterminals.

He had the look of someone who never smiled. A scar ran across his cheek and a thin, sandy braid of hair hung behind his ear. His Jedi robes were loose and weathered by the war he'd chosen to help them fight and a battered lightsaber hung from his belt, glistening when the light caught it. The Krag caught sight of him, crossed his arms and looked back at Erik who quickly continued his recount.

"Her name is Lord Kallig. She uh, seemed a little young to be a Sith but... she asked about the Graveyard and the mines beneath Mt Foane." Erik saw Mada's eyes narrow. A thousand thoughts went through that man's head before he ever spoke a word. Erik didn't wait for them to settle.

"I told her what I knew. That the place was abandoned, haunted, that lots of people died in there but she only seemed more interested and-" he was coming to the part they probably weren't going to believe but he took a deep breath and said it anyway. 

"In return for its location she helped me escape," he said, "used some kind of Sith magic to conceal us and we walked right out. She had agents waiting outside with speeders. I showed her the path to Mt. Foane and when we got there, she... she let me go..." He was speaking very quietly now but everyone in the room could hear him. 

Silence followed.

And lingered. 

He looked at Mada and the Krag, their expressions somewhere between disbelief and confusion, as though they had misheard him. Erik glanced at Jaeden Vae'lo who'd clenched his jaw so tight, veins appeared on his tanned brown neck.

"A Sith Lord... let you go?" the Krag stared at him dumbly, clearly unconvinced.

"Rubbish!" someone shouted from across the room. 

"He's got lightning in the brain!" yelled another.

Some of the other rebels expressed their doubts in a similar fashion, others laughed and shook their heads.

"Did she follow you here, Serth?" Mada asked. He saw the threat where it was present.

"No sir, I stopped and doubled back to check if she was following. I saw her enter the mines and leave her speeder behind. I took the biggest detour I could getting here, she definitely wasn't following," he assured them. 

"You're sure?" the Lieutenant pressed. 

"Yes," Erik replied, pleading with his eyes for someone to believe him but the Danislans were a superstitious folk and the very mention of the Sith made their skin crawl.

"I Don't Believe It," the Krag boomed. "A Sith Lord? Let You Go? Never."

"I believe it," Vae'lo said quietly and all eyes turned to him as he slowly walked over. "I believe he's been brainwashed by the Sith and sent here to kill us."

"No!" Erik cried "I swear, I'm not going to kill anyone, I-"

"Search him!" the Krag boomed.

The two men who had been standing guard at the door quickly approached Erik, tore off his cloak and patted him down, checking for concealed weapons. Satisfied that he was unarmed, they pulled his arms back and held him tight.

"I'm not lying! I just- " Erik pleaded desperately.

"It's not possible Erik," Gav stirred "they'd never have let you go. Not unless they tortured you first..."

"NO! I- I was inside the Imperial Citadel! I saw their men, their ships, their weapons! I can tell you everything!" Erik pleaded.

"You saw what they wanted you to see! So you could come back here and lure us into their trap!" Vae'lo hissed. 

He was right in front of him now, staring Erik down with his dark brown eyes. And then Erik suddenly remembered the young Sith and her bright blue gaze. Vae'lo held none of the power she had over him, no matter how loud he yelled or how threatening he made his presence. He would never fear Jaeden Vae'lo as he feared Lord Kallig. 

"We shouldn't believe a word he says," Vae'lo grabbed him by the collar trying to intimidate Erik but it wasn't very effective. "We should lock him up before he contacts his Sith masters and the Empire descends upon us."

The soldiers in the War Room all nodded and called out in agreement. Vae'lo continued to glare at Erik, searching for the truth he wanted, not the one he had. 

"I'm telling the truth, whether you believe me or not," Erik said without understanding how he could be so unafraid of the man he'd seen lift an Imperial tank into the air and throw it like a children's toy. He stood up straight, using his newfound bravery to look him straight in the eye and added, "perhaps if your Jedi powers were greater you could sense it." 

Bad move. This provoked Vae'lo into lifting him up off the ground by his throat. Erik began to choke as he desperately gripped at the invisible force cutting off his air supply. 

"Enough!" Mada interjected suddenly, quick to spot violence before it broke out.

Vae'lo released his grip on Erik who gasped at the air which had been denied him. The Jedi suddenly lost his edge, he looked down at his shaking hands and turned away. The room fell silent as everyone turned to look at Nordren Mada. 

"Is there any way to prove he's not under the influence of the Imperials?" he asked the room. 

Erik tried to come up with a convincing argument but had the situation been reversed, he would be hard-pressed to believe such a story himself. Despair washed over him. Lord Kallig had played her hand, sparing his life, knowing full well that no one else would believe him even if he tried to tell the tale.

"The influence of the dark side can remain dormant within anyone, regardless of time and distance. It clouds things in ways unknown and unexpected..." Vae'lo had regained some of his composure and presented a vague statement assuring that no one in the room could vouch for Erik with certainty.

"I don't like it," the Krag said but his voice reverberated throughout the War Room anyway. "You can't trust a Sith and you can't trust the Empire. We don't take any chances."

"I agree. My fallen brothers would not have died if the Sith were capable of humility," the Jedi mused. "He should be detained until we can figure out the extent of this Sith's influence," he concluded dryly.

Nordren looked at Erik and then typed something into his datapad. "I'm inclined to agree. Until we know more about this, what did you call her? Lord Kallig?"

Erik nodded.

"Yes, well I'm afraid that name does not appear in any of our data. I'm sorry Erik, regardless of whether what you're saying is true I think you need to be monitored for any signs of mind control and brainwashing." Mada put down his datapad and looked at the Krag.

"Lock him up in isolation," the Krag commanded.

Erik's heart sank. He should have expected this. At least he wasn't going to be executed... yet. 

The two guards holding his arms led him out of the War Room. He didn't bother looking anyone in the face but he heard a few people mumble _"traitor"_ as he walked by. Erik hung his head, he was going back to prison.


	5. Family Matters

The rebels had captured very few Imperial prisoners in the war for Danisla. Some had taken their own lives with poison or weapons but most had been killed from afar by their Sith masters before they could be detained. The few they did manage to capture had been housed in the Sanctuary's repurposed observation chambers which the Ithorians had originally used to contain and study injured wildlife. Erik was placed in one of these sophisticated cages while they decided what to do with him.

Despite being designed for primitive animal species, Erik found it to be a great improvement upon the Imperial prison cell he'd spent the night in. The floor was still hard and cold but they'd given him a regulation sleeping bag and a warm meal which he'd wolfed down immediately. A golden energy barrier prevented him from leaving his cell, humming quietly and giving off a faint iridescent glow. There was light in the chamber and Erik could see his reflection in the shiny metal walls. 

Dark circles and bruises had swollen his eyes half-shut; a parting gift from the Imperial guards who'd beaten him. His clothes were stained with sweat and blood, torn in places where he'd made contact with prickleweed thorns. Shaggy, brown hair covered his head and face, just long enough to be dishevelled by sweat and wind. 

He tried to comb it out of his eyes with his hand but the greasy strands fell back down indignantly. He sighed and leaned wearily against the wall, legs stretched out in front of him. Mud-stained boots beyond repair imprisoned his aching feet but he couldn't even bring himself to pull them off. 

With the looming threat of torture, fear and adrenaline had kept him awake and keenly alert for any moves the enemy made. But now, the danger had passed and exhaustion washed over him like a cool wave. He shut his eyes briefly and couldn't open them again. Erik fell asleep without even crawling into the sleeping bag, half-leaning against the wall. 

It was many hours before he awoke to the sound of familiar voices calling to him. He'd been too exhausted to even dream and reluctantly pulled himself out of a deep sleep to see what was making so much noise.

 _"Father! Father, wake up!"_ a little boy shouted from afar.

Erik recognized his son's voice immediately and opened his eyes, waking up with a sharp intake of breath. He blinked, adjusting to the light, waiting to finally see his boy again.

Ven was almost six years old, with shaggy, brown hair and green eyes just like his father's. Unlike Erik, Ven had his mother's gentle face and warm smile. He peered intently through the energy barrier to where Erik had fallen asleep, eager to see him.

"Look, he's waking up!" he said to the woman kneeling beside him. 

Erik recognized his wife, Bara, clutching at Ven's little arms, holding him back so that he couldn't touch the barrier. Her raven hair fell gracefully down her shoulders onto the roughspun dress commonly worn by refugee women. Erik didn't know how she could look so beautiful and so worried at the same time but he was so happy to see her that he didn't care. He smiled and peeled himself off the wall, groaning slightly from the pain and stiffness in his limbs.

"Oh Erik, thank Karthnak, I feared worst," Bara sighed. 

"You always fear the worst, hearthome," Erik chuckled and carefully sat down in front of them, smiling through the swelling.

"What happened to your face? Why are you in here, Erik? They told me you'd been detained but they didn't say why..." Bara gushed as she saw his wounds. 

Her bottom lip had split and was slick with blood which she licked impatiently. Erik knew Bara was prone to biting her lip when she was worried but he'd not seen it bleed since the war began. He suddenly felt incredibly guilty, she had enough to worry about as it was.

"I'm sorry, Bara. I was captured by Imps while I was scouting near the city. I thought there were only two platoons of troops on that side but another cut me off. I was trapped and-" Erik tried to explain but Bara interrupted him.

"The Imperials?! What did they do to you?" she demanded. Fear sucked the colour from her face as her eyes searched him for missing body parts. 

"I'm fine, that's what I've been trying to tell everyone. A Sith Lord helped me escape," Erik reasoned, trying to dissuade her fears but compounded them instead.

"A Sith Lord? Erik... that's..." Bara trailed off, unable to form words. She stared at him, mortified.

The energy barrier that separated them covered his family with a transparent golden film and Erik felt like he was watching a holo. Something shifted behind Bara and a curious little face peered out from behind her. Erik smiled, forgetting his troubles when he recognized his little girl.

"And who's that hiding behind your mother, Ven? Could it be a ferocious vrowl-cat?" he teased.

"It's Sadi, father!" Ven yelped and tried to free his hands from his mother's grip. "She's just scared!" he jeered and grinned. 

"I am not!" cried the little girl who'd been hiding behind her mother. She timidly stepped out into view. "There just... wasn't enough room for everyone..." 

She was nine years old, her mother in miniature. Hair tied up in two long braids that hung down in front of a familiar brown dress. She fiddled with one of her braids shyly, avoiding eye contact. 

"There's nothing to be scared of, Sadi, It's me," Erik said. He tried to sweep the unruly hair out of his face but this had the opposite effect to what he intended. Frightened by the black and blue swellings that covered his mishapen features, Sadi squealed and clutched at her mother's skirt, hiding.

Bara let go of one of Ven's hands and put an arm around Sadi's shoulders, hugging her tight. And Ven took advantage of the moment to reach his little fingers into the golden wall of energy which shocked him with a small jolt of electricity. He cried out in pain and began to sob into Bara's shoulder. She gathered him up and stood, whispering comforting words to her wounded little cub. 

Erik instinctively reached out to him too and was zapped away from the barrier. Wincing, he could only watch from afar as Bara soothed his wounds with gentle kisses. 

Erik examined his hands, still red from where he'd touched the barrier. On the other side, Sadi was looking at him fearfully, examining the wounds on his hands and face. There was a glimmer of recognition in her eyes and she gingerly approached the energy barrier.

"Why can't we touch you, father?" she asked quietly.

Erik sighed, he wasn't sure how to explain it to her or even if he could. 

"Don't worry darling, I won't be in here long," he said, trying to reassure her and himself. "I love you, Sadi. All of you." Erik promised simply. 

Before he could think of anything better to say, a stocky, grey haired man with a receding hairline appeared behind them. Roban Greyam, the guard they'd posted to the rebels' makeshift prison, was an old friend of Erik and Bara. A veteran soldier, Roban had retired to their neighbourhood years before the war. He had often been Erik and Bara's dinner guest and he knew their children well.

"Bara, the Jedi wants to speak to Erik, he's on his way now. You'll have to leave, I'm sorry," Roban said to her anxiously. He was instructed to forbid all visitors but Bara was not easily dissuaded once she set her mind to something. 

She looked at him bitterly and then at Erik, still holding Ven on her hip. He had finally stopped crying and rubbed his red little eyes sleepily.

"Just give me one more minute. Please," she said holding out the little boy. "Take the children. I never should have brought them here," she said, shaking her head.

Roban reluctantly took her son and sat him in the cradle of his arm. He took Sadi by the hand and looked at Bara sternly.

"One minute," he said and turned to leave. Roban was getting on the unpleasant side of old and arguing with women had never been his strong suite. He nodded to Erik and walked off, leaving them alone.

Erik looked up at Bara, who was desperately searching his eyes for signs of evil or corruption but instead she found a mess of human being that looked remarkably like her husband. She dropped to her knees and moved in closer to the barrier.

"It's really you, isn't it? The Sith haven't changed you?" she asked.

"It's me, Bara. I need you to believe that," he said. "I'm not lying. The Jedi should be able to see it. Everyone will have to believe me eventually." 

"Not if you keep saying a Sith helped you escape. It's hopeless Erik, just tell them something that could have actually happened. You're smart, you don't need to do this," Bara pleaded. 

She was right in a way, he was being stubborn. He could have lied but what he had seen was far more important than his freedom. Logically, the value of his assessment of the Imperial military forces within Caralis should far outweigh the fact a Sith had not murdered him on sight. Why couldn't they see that?

"Listen to me, I was in the Imperial Citadel, they only have a limited number of men. With careful planning and reconnaissance we could take back the capital. We just need to-" Erik began to elaborate.

"You don't need to say a Sith Lord broke you out. Just tell them a guard let you escape, anything," Bara pleaded.

He understood her doubts but intentionally obscurring facts could result in a grandiose miscalculation of their enemy's intentions. A rogue Sith Lord could become a big problem or a great ally, if only he could explain it to her.

"You don't understand, she deliberately broke me out because she needed something beneath Mt. Foane. It could be a weapon or a-" 

"Erik, nothing is more important than your life. Please, think about us, your family. This isn't worth dying over," Bara cried. She reached out to him with her hand but stopped short of the barrier and pulled it back to her chest.

Erik looked into her eyes and saw the deep fear that had gripped his wife.

"Are they really considering execution?" he asked quietly.

"...yes," she whispered, tears forming in her eyes.

He was silent for a moment. They must really think him a traitor.

Erik remembered an occassion when the Sith had purged a village of Danislans refusing to submit to slavery and left an indoctrinated man behind for the rebels to find. The Resistance took pity on the sole survivor and brought him into one of the Sanctuaries. That night they lost all thirty-two refugees who'd shared his sleeping quarters and three good soldiers died putting him down. But Erik hadn't killed anyone and the only reason he was locked up was paranoia. 

If only he could convince them to see reason... 

No, he only needed to convince Nordren Mada. He was a pragmatic man, logical, cynical. If anyone could cut through this superstitious nonsense with reason, it was him. After years of working closely on intelligence missions, Erik trusted Mada as a leader and as his commanding officer, often with his life. This last assignment had been given to him under his direct order. He would never let anyone die for his mistake, Erik was sure of it.

"I'll get out of here, Bara, I promise. I just need to convince Lieutenant Mada that I'm innocent, he'll stand up for me, I know it," he said.

"I hope you're right," Bara murmured. "I'll talk to him, then. I won't let them take you from me," she said, a single tear escaping her control and rolling down her cheek. She sniffed it away and stood up swiftly, turning to leave. 

Erik wanted to wrap his arms around her and hold her close but he couldn't. His heart skipped a beat and he tried to swallow the guilt that flooded his mind. 

"Bara. Bara!" he yelled as she walked away, perching on his knees to get a better look through the energy barrier. 

"I love you!" he shouted down the hall and accidentally touched the wall again, sizzling his fingers. He hissed through the pain. It meant little compared to the agony of seeing his family so hurt and afraid of him. 

Erik was a prisoner, accused of treason, possibly condemned to death. He thought about his family watching him face a firing squad of men that he considered friends and shivered violently. It would have been better if he hadn't returned at all. 

Seeing his wife and children again had warmed his heart but now that they were gone he realized how cold he was. Erik sat down and hugged his legs, rubbing his arms for warmth. How he wished he still had the cloak Lord Kallig had given him.

But it was gone, probably incinerated by some of the more superstitious guardsmen who feared an evil spirit possessing them somehow. He felt bad that he couldn't return it to Ashara who let Lord Kallig pass around her possessions so frivolously. Or perhaps she'd willingly let him keep it? A small comfort to a walking dead man.

He thought about the young Sith who'd offered to let him go back home. What a fool he'd been! Even if he accepted her terms, Bara would never agree to come with him. The way she looked at him, searching for something sinister, brimming with distrust and suspicion at the very mention of Imperials and Sith...

Danislans were infamously superstitious and Bara, being the daughter of a priest, was doubly so. At first, it had bothered him, a rational thinker, that his beloved was a keen believer in such fickle notions of evil hiding around every corner but eventually he'd come to love her all the same. 

There were plenty of myths and legends in the Karthnakla religion that described the end of the world but many had been forgotten with the advent of hyperspace travel and discovery of the greater galaxy. 

However, when the Sith invaded, the Danislans didn't need to invent any scary stories to keep their children and foolhardy in line. The Dark Lords gave them plenty of reasons to have nightmares, slaughtering thousands with lightsaber and lightning, burning towns to the ground and enslaving farmers who cultivated the land to provide food for their growing armies.

Erik wondered if Lord Kallig had been responsible for any of the horrors the Empire had wrought upon Danisla. He shivered again. It wasn't as cold in the chamber as it had been in the Graveyard but Erik could still feel the hair on his arms stand up and the skin grow ribbed and bumpy. He thought about his final words to Bara and hoped that they wouldn't be his last.


	6. Fractured Memories

Erik's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps coming down the corridor. A lone figure walked past the numerous empty cells, wearing a loose brown cloak much like the one Erik wished he still had. 

The hood covered his face but as he approached, Erik could see that it was Jaeden Vae'lo hidden beneath it. He glanced at Erik for a moment and sat down cross-legged before him, his hands hidden by the long sleeves as he held them together in front of his chest.

Erik swallowed, preparing to weather the Jedi's wrath should he choose to mete it but Vae'lo sat quite still. Evidently, he'd been meditating and appeared a lot calmer than he'd previously been. 

"Erik Serth," he said, peeling back the hood to reveal his face. It was gaunt and rugged, marked with lines that made him look much older than he was. The war had not been kind to him. He was doing his best to maintain a neutral expression but his jowls quivered from the way he clenched his stout jaw shut, betraying his anger and resentment.

Erik felt uncomfortable at this all too familiar situation. The Jedi weren't known for torture or unwonted violence but an interrogation would still be unpleasant, especially after their awkward exchange in the War Room. 

"I understand you've had visitors," he commented, "despite it being forbidden."

No doubt he'd run into Bara and the children on his way in. 

"What did you tell them?" he asked, watching him closely.

"That I love them and I'll be out of here soon," Erik replied without thinking. 

The young Jedi examined him carefully, looking for signs of deceit or falsehood but found none, neither in his face nor in the Force.

"Well, you're not lying, if only to yourself," Vae'lo remarked.

"I'm telling the truth, how many times do I have to say it?" Erik replied rather antagonistically. He wasn't in the mood for games. 

"I know you think you're telling the truth but you could be... mistaken," Vae'lo suggested, visibly trying to restrain his emotions. 

Erik was irritated by his insinuation and was about to argue but then he realized that if he could convince Vae'lo he wasn't brainwashed, he could convince anybody. He tried dispelling his anger like the Jedi was doing and was suddenly reminded of someone.

"Your Master, Sebron," Erik began tentatively, "He once told me that the Sith used to be Jedi. Is that true?"

Vae'lo furrowed his eyebrows, the emotionless mask slipping away for a second to reveal suspicion before returning to a more passive expression. 

"It is true," he admitted, "the very first Jedi to fall to the dark side eventually became the Sith Lords we fight today. Master Sebron often said they are a reminder of the dangers and temptation from the Dark Side. Even now, his words echo from unexpected places..." He looked at Erik, pain and sadness wandering through his dark, brown eyes as he tried to keep a straight face.

"I'm sorry, he was a good man," Erik remembered the wise old Jedi who'd saved his life and the lives of thousands of refugees so many times over. Hollis Sebron never gave up on them, even when the Treaty of Coruscant forbade Republic aid and forced them to operate in secret. He was always walking at the pace of the slowest man, woman or child, cerulean lightsaber in hand, their sworn guardian. 

"His death was a tragedy," Erik said quietly. 

"You have no idea..." Vae'lo closed his eyes. The death of his mentor still weighed heavily upon his mind. Erik knew that the old Jedi Master had traded his own life for the survivors of a small town called Praye which was besieged by the Sith Lord Freasch. Sending his Padawan away with the refugees, Sebron had faced the Sith and his forces alone.

"I'm sure he died bravely," Erik tried to sympathize with him, he'd meant no disrespect towards the old Jedi Master.

But his words seemed to anger Vae'lo even more. His mask of neutrality quickly shattered and he glared at him with disgust. 

"No. He did not," Vae'lo hissed through his teeth. "The Sith don't have the decency to simply kill a man. They maim and torture and use their cursed alchemy to transform men into mindless beasts and set them loose upon the innocent."

"The monstrosity which Freasch created from Master Sebron's body died at the end of my own lightsaber two weeks after they took him. The only part I still recognized were the eyes!" Vae'lo's rage was palpable, sizzling upon the energy barrier to Erik's chamber. For the first time, he was glad it was present as he slid away from the golden sparks. 

"I-I'm sorry..." Erik stammered, trying to think of something to say. He didn't doubt the truth of Vae'lo's story, having scouted the Sith's moving encampment on several occasions. 

Freasch had been the most level-headed of the Dark Lords, often having entire conversations without killing anybody but only because he was a man of science. Strange and deadly abominations often wandered out of his tents and into unsuspecting settlements or farms nearby. 

Erik had watched as Freasch observing his monstrous experiments from a distance. He must have relished the sight of a Padawan forced to kill his own Master. 

Erik swallowed, trying to purge the horrible image from his mind.

"The Sith would never let a man walk free," Vae'lo spat, "not unless he served their dark purpose." His intense gaze focused on Erik who fumbled with his thoughts, trying to put together a cohesive sentence. 

Bright, blue eyes appeared in his mind as fear raced through his nerves to every part of his body, numbing his extremities. He swallowed again, could he be wrong? Perhaps the young Sith really did do something to his brain.

"Lord Kallig let me go," he said, honestly. "I can't say anything as to her intentions but..." he trailed off.

"That is why I am here," Vae'lo said with a regained sense of control. "If there is darkness within you, I will find it."

"Well go ahead then, read my mind. I have nothing to hide," Erik said flatly, wanting it to be over.

"This will... likely cause you some discomfort," Vae'lo replied.

Erik wondered if he would be able to feel his indecision about Lord Kallig's offer but decided his actions would be enough to absolve him. 

"If it'll help get me out of here, I agree to some _'discomfort',"_ he said, sounding a lot more sure than he felt.

Vae'lo looked at him, a little hesitant. Obviously not expecting this amount of cooperation from someone he accused of being a traitor. 

"Very well," he said finally. He reached out his hand and closed his eyes. "Show me..."

Erik felt a dull ache fill his head and radiate through his mind. His vision blurred and he closed his eyes, trying to focus on what he'd seen. A minute went by, then two or more.

Nothing happened.

He grew weary of the headache Vae'lo was giving him and opened his eyes, seeking to complain but the Jedi was no longer there. Erik was back in the Imperial prison cell, surrounded by darkness and the smell of dry blood. Lord Kallig emerged from the shadows, her blue eyes piercing him once again, pouring fear down his spine, into his soul. 

Erik gasped, surprise and fear snatching words from his brain before they reached his mouth. 

_"Are you going to kill me?"_ he heard himself ask. 

_"No,"_ she said, looking through him instead of at him. Something shifted behind her eyes, smoke formed around them and he heard Lord Kallig asking him something incoherent and felt his own mouth respond with familiar sentences, broken up by his gasps and pauses. 

_"I-I can't,"_ he heard himself mumble and the real Sith Inquisitor barged in to interrupt him again. Lord Kallig grabbed him and led him out of the room which evaporated into nothing. He walked down a long corridor of faceless guards. To his left and right, different conversations played out between Lord Kallig and Ashara, appearing and disappearing in smoky clouds of diffused darkness. 

_"Are you just going to use him up and hand him back to the Empire like a dish rag?"_ he heard Ashara ask to his left, her eyes were smokey white.

 _"I will do what I want,"_ Kallig snarled to his right, her form disfigured by dark shadows and shifting black smoke. Two glowing yellow eyes pierced the darkness seconds before fading away into the void. More blurry visions flashed by as the pain in Erik's head intensified. A fierce wind whipped his face, froze his feelings and he found himself on the ridge overlooking the mines beneath Mt Foane. 

The shadowy figure of Lord Kallig appeared before him, face grotesquely deformed by the mask, eyes blistering red, just like the lightsaber in her hand. Black smoke billowed around her ghostly form and a much taller, grey shadow loomed behind her.

 _"You can go,"_ she growled in a otherworldly echo _"But know that my offer still stands. If you wish to return to your city as a citizen under the Empire, I will do as I have promised."_

Erik felt terror flay his heart and pain stab at his temples, he fought against the vision and the indecision it brought out within him.

 _"I'm afraid... I m-must decline,"_ he heard himself whimper. Then he got on a speeder and rode away. The smokey visions flashed past him, his heart stopped beating and he felt himself disintegrate into shards of nothingness. Into darkness.


	7. Hungry for Action

Erik was numb. A rhythmic beeping echoed through the endless void in which he found himself. His body felt heavy and awkward. He tried to move something, his fingers, his toes. Clumps of interconnecting muscles and nerve endings strained to briefly twitch what felt like the fingers on his left hand. He groaned with the effort and let them go.

 _"Urgh, I won't be doing that again,"_ he thought to himself and relaxed.

It was calm here, in the void. No worries, no wants, no pain. Just that incessant beeping coming from somewhere far away. He tried to ignore it but instead it grew louder and was accompanied by several new sounds, equally as irritating.

Erik sighed and tried to shift something resembling his head away from the noise but it followed him, growing even louder.

"Erik..." he heard someone say.

 _"Not me, surely,"_ he thought to himself. _"There's nothing here. No-one."_

"Erik..." someone called again.

 _"There are plenty of Eriks out there, it's a very common name,"_ he reasoned, content to lie there for all eternity.

Strange forces began to exert pressure on his hands. They tingled and buzzed with sensation as the numbness slowly faded away. Other parts of his body began to reawaken and he took a deep, laboured breath trying to send himself back to sleep. He didn't want to leave the void and its cold promise of gentle apathy...

 _"ERIK!"_ the transmogrified voice of Lord Kallig filled his ears. Her horrible yellow eyes slicing through the darkness.

Erik screamed and sat up, eyes wide, heart bursting. Air refused to enter his lungs and he found himself gasping for breath. He anxiously felt around with his hands, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light, terrified of finding himself once again in Imperial hands.

But he was in the Sanctuary's infirmary, lying in one of the cots, hooked up to several machines. His vision was still blurry and unaccustomed to the brightness of the cold medical lamps but he could make out several blurry shapes resembling people crowded around the bed.

"Easy there, Erik. You need to relax," he heard a grey blur speak.

"Ugh-wuhh?" he tried to say.

"You're in the infirmary, Erik, you've suffered a cardiac arrest. You need to take it easy..." he heard the voice say. It sounded female. 

She placed a hand on his shoulder, gently guided him down onto the bed and he gratefully laid himself back down, fear subsiding. His heart prickled with each breath, beating slowly and unsurely. There was a mask on his face, pumping oxygen into his mouth but he could barely let any of it in.

The grey blur came into focus, a doctor or a nurse he'd never seen before. She studied the vitals monitor as it beeped out his unsteady heart rate. A medical droid stood opposite, it reached out its metal finger towards Erik's eyes and shined a light into them, moving it in and out of view. He squinted and scrunched his eyes shut.

"Pupillary response level: normal. Heart rate: stable, low. Oxygen saturation level: 87%" the medical droid stated with its synthesized voice module. "Patient is stable and no longer in critical condition," it concluded.

"Very well, you may continue monitoring the rest of the patients," the woman replied.

"Erik," Bara called to him, squeezing his hand as she sat by his bedside.

Erik turned his heavy head to look at her and tried to smile. With some difficulty, he forced a painful grimace onto his face and she moved in close to kiss him on the lips tenderly.

"I thought I'd lost you," she whispered, pressing her chin to his forehead, as was Danislan custom.

"You nearly did. If that Jedi hadn't been there to help..." the woman in grey said, typing something into her datapad. 

"Nuuugh," Erik moaned, disagreeing.

"Is this permanent, Dr. Haldis?" Bara asked the woman in grey, tearing herself away from Erik for a moment.

"The neural imaging shows no sign of anoxic brain damage, it's likely a side-effect of the pain dampeners. He'll regain himself. In time," she said flipping through the images on her datapad. "I've marked return to conciousness in his file, my superiors will know shortly. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more patients to see." She nodded to them and walked away towards a wounded man covered in bandages.

Bara sighed and squeezed his hand.

"You know exactly how to make me lose my mind..." she said. 

Erik tried to laugh but ended up coughing painfully. 

Bara used the controls on the bed to raise him into a half-seated position, allowing him to catch his breath. They sat in silence for a few minutes, enjoying being together again. Bara soon began to talk about their children, her work in the kitchens and the other refugees. 

Erik listened to her intently. He was happy to let her recount how many soldiers she'd fed, the constant lack of supplies and the difficulty in diversifying the menu with what they had. Slowly, but surely he began to speak. A simple _'yes'_ or _'no'_ here, a curt _'ridiculous'_ there and soon he was asking his own questions and answering hers. They were content to keep talking about the disparaging realities of their day-to-day lives forever but it wasn't to be.

To Erik's displeasure, Jaeden Vae'lo darkened the doorway of the medical wing. The hood of his cloak covered his head and partially hid his face. He spoke to Dr Haldis briefly and she pointed to where Erik was bedridden at the end of the hall. He made his way over and stopped at the end of the cot.

Bara stood up and grabbed his hands, clasping them together and bowing. 

"Master Jedi, thank-you so much for helping Erik. You saved my husband, I am eternally grateful," she said, touching the tips of his fingers to her forehead. 

Vae'lo stood awkwardly trapped by her kindness. He managed to slip out from her grip and sighed.

"You should not be thanking me, good woman. I am responsible for Erik's suffering and for that I deeply apologise," he bowed his head.

"What do you mean?" Bara asked, confused. "You used the Force to save him, didn't you?"

"Yes, I was able to suspend his body long enough for him to be treated by medical professionals. However, the reason he suffered a cardiac arrest is because I put him in a trance in order to view his memories. I am not as skilled in the technique as my master and I fear my powers have caused Erik great pain," Vae'lo confessed. 

"Is this true?" Bara turned to Erik and asked.

He nodded slowly.

"I asked him to do it, Bara," he said. "I wanted to prove I wasn't lying..."

" _You what?!_ You almost died!! Just so you could prove...uugh! How could do that?! And you! Aren't you supposed to be a Jedi? Aren't you supposed to protect people?! How dare you!" Bara cried, swinging her hands angrily. A few people stirred around the room, looking over in their direction.

"Again, I deeply apologise. I cannot excuse the fact that I put your husband in danger but I needed to know if he posed a threat to the Resistance," Vae'lo said, accepting her criticisms.

"Well he certainly doesn't pose a threat now, you two-faced kara-snipe!" Bara yelled furiously, her compassion evaporating into flames of rage. 

"He spoke truthfully but that doesn't mean he isn't under the influence of the Sith. The Dark side clouds many things..." Vae'lo reasoned. 

"Unbelievable! All of this isn't enough for you?" Bara said, putting one hand on her hip and throwing the other up in the air. 

"Bara please, it's as much his fault as it is mine. I wanted him to see the truth... I just wish it had been enough to convince him..." Erik spoke softly, trying to maintain an even breathing pattern.

Bara looked ready to berate him further but at that moment Lieutenant Nordren Mada walked into the infirmary. He was dressed in his usual Danislan officer's uniform. Tan pants, coat and cap, complete with tall black boots and a large yellow Danislan Cross painted over the left breast. He carried a datapad under his right arm and walked briskely with a military posture. Heads turned and a few wounded soldiers acknowledged him as he made his way to Erik's bed. Doctor Haldis wheeled a stool over, smiling.

"Have a seat, sir," she said.

"Thank-you, doctor, you're too kind," he said and sat down.

"And you," Haldis snapped at Bara, "lower your voice. You're disturbing the other patients," she warned and walked away before she could argue.

"Hello Erik, it's good to see you're still with us," Mada said. "Mistress Serth, Master Vae'lo." He nodded to each of them respectively. 

"Please, I'm no master," Vae'lo replied humbly.

"Very well. I'm actually here to apologize, Erik," he said with small frown. 

"Hah! Take a number" Erik said weakly and smiled.

"If I hadn't sent you out to scout so near the city, none of this would have happened. I should have checked the intel more thoroughly before sending you off," he confessed, his expression grave. 

"No, you were right," Erik corrected him, "they don't have as many guards posted to the city. The forces spread across the farm settlements in the south are far greater than the ones I saw in the capital. With enough troops and planning, we could take it!" 

His enthusiasm put a strain on his respiratory system and he began to cough painfully. Bara held his hand while he tried to breathe again. His heart seared with pain and he winced with each beat. Nordren waited patiently before replying. 

"That is interesting..." he mused. "But before I accept any of your intel, I need to know I can trust you."

"You can," Erik wheezed.

"I can, but the men won't accept your word if it's been tainted," he glanced sideways at Vae'lo and pulled a datapad out from under his arm. "I've been sifting through all the data we have on the Sith and came across an information cache salvaged from the wreck of a Balmorran Starfighter. It belonged to a SIS agent who was supposed to ferry the intel from the Outer Rim back to Coruscant, but he was shot down over Danisla." He tapped the datapad to bring up the right file. 

"Listen to this:" he said.

"Regarding the return of Iannos Tyrek, an accomplished scientist in the field of biomolecular chemistry who defected from the Empire for moral reasons. He reported being recruited by an unnamed female Sith at Camp Kono Nolan in the Markaran Plains on Balmorra."

"According to Tyrek, the Sith alone subdued the Resistance squad assigned to protect him. She then reportedly offered him safe passage back to the Resistance compound in exchange for his assistance in the creation of a specialized mutagen in Imperial territory."

"Tyrek reluctantly agreed in order to avoid further casualties and was escorted to Sobrik where he created said mutagen. He said it was designed to mimic the immunity to toxic byproducts naturally possessed by a native insectoid species known as the Collicoid. Upon completion, the Sith injected herself with the untested mutagen and suffered no immediate ill effects."

"Tyrek was offered his old position in the Empire's laboratories but declined and was subsequently provided with an Imperial shuttle back to neutral territory where he was greeted by Resistance troops."

"Preliminary assessments on Tyrek show no physical or psychological damage but we can neither confirm nor deny his report. The intel has been sent to the Bugtown Outpost, we'll let our Force-sensitive liason handle this." Mada paused to flick the screen of the datapad and rest.

"So she let him go? This Tyrek man..." Bara asked quietly. 

"Yes," Erik croaked. "Sounds like Tyrek and I had a very similar encounter."

Erik knew very little about Balmorra, only that it was reknowned for weapons manufacture in the Core worlds. After the Treaty of Coruscant however, Balmorra, like Danisla, had been ceded to the Empire and its Republic forces recalled. 

"Do you believe me now?" he grumbled, shooting Vae'lo a dirty look.

Vae'lo reciprocated for a moment but quickly neutralized his expression and turned to Nordren. "The Force-sensitive liason? Is he talking about Jedi?" he asked. 

"It appears they were on Balmorra covertly, yes," Mada suggested, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

"I suppose it would make sense to send a couple of Jedi Knights to help the Resistance rather than a full force of Republic troops. It would be too obvious given the state of politics," Vae'lo acquiesced.

"I'd like you to hear the second entry:" Mada began to read again. "Jedi masters Flin Tok and Ka'luma Nati were able to confirm the validity of Tyrek's report."

Erik brandished a triumphant grin at Vae'lo who angrily pretended not to notice. Erik knew he couldn't second guess a Jedi Master, let alone two. He could taste his victory over the excessively suspicious Jedi now but his grin quickly dissipated as Mada continued reading the report.

"There was a brief discussion held with plans to recruit the Sith but it was ended abruptly by the siege of the Balmorran Arms Factory and its subsequent fall into the Imperial hands."

"During the siege, the Sith in question was witnessed killing an unconfirmed number of Resistance troops as well as Jedi Knight Ralon Nys and subsequently Jedi Knight Sedoya Senn and his padawan."

"Grand Marshal Cheketta was notably defeated and captured by the Sith who was able to single-handedly repel the Republic reinforcements. She accepted his surrender on behalf of the Empire on the condition that he publicly confess to receiving Republic aid. This has caused great political outrage in the Senate regarding the Treaty of Coruscant, I am sending this report back to the capital for classification." 

Erik swallowed hard. He could easily picture Lord Kallig injecting herself with strange mutagens, killing Jedi Knights and Republic troops. He shivered as he remembered those bloody red eyes, rings of yellow, pulsing with hate. There could be no doubt. Those poor men and women probably hadn't even seen her coming. 

Mada tapped at his datapad, looking for more clues. "The data collected doesn't have any confirmed alias but there is a profile: adult humanoid female. Roughly 1.75 meters tall. Silver white hair." Nordren looked up at Erik. "Does that sound like this Lord Kallig you encountered?" 

"Yes," Erik whispered, his bruised heart unsettled by the abrupt turn of events.

"I thought so," the Lieutenant mused, cupping his chin with his hand. "It seems you're not the only one she's used for her own purposes."

"A Jedi-killer can never be trusted," Vae'lo said and Erik was inclined to agree.

"Well, if anything, the Jedi were able to confirm Tyrek's account and sanity so it stands to reason that Erik is not under the influence of the Sith," Mada concluded. He looked at Vae'lo sternly, daring him to disagree.

"Oh, thank Karthnak," Bara sighed, squeezing Erik's hand gently.

"However, we should be wary. If this Sith was able to single-handedly break the Balmorran Resistance and force them into retreat, we may have a serious problem on our hands," Mada warned.

There was a hushed silence where everyone considered the gravity of their situation. Some of the other patients who'd been listening in, shifted uncomfortably in their cots.

"Perhaps we should investigate the Graveyard, see what she's planning?" Vae'lo suggested calmly, about to volunteer.

"I've already sent your friend Gavinn Troik to scout the area," Mada replied, looking to Erik. "We should know more by the end of the day."

"Is that wise? Sending him after a Sith alone?" Vae'lo questioned. "I've heard some unsettling things about those mines as well."

"I've instructed him not to engage the Sith, simply to look around for signs of trouble. If the speeder Erik mentioned is still there, we can confirm something really is going on inside. If not, then it's possible she's moved on," Nordren reasoned.

"Gav is a great scout and all but what if the rains come. He'll be caught in the storm." Erik was suddenly concerned. 

"The Sanctuary's meteorological system has predicted another four cycles before the rains come. Which is why it's important we stock up enough supplies to last us the season." Mada trailed off.

"If the rains continue for as long as last year, we have nowhere near the amount you're talking about! We'll be eating half rations in as little as two weeks," Bara said worriedly. 

"I know." Mada sighed. "All the crops harvested this year, bar the rations for Imperial troops stationed on Danisla, have already been shipped off-planet," Mada explained.

"I did have a source report a large surplus of food requisitioned for the colonists in Caralis, particularly the Governor. It's why I sent Erik to scout the West gate of the city to assess the viability of securing it and getting inside to raid their larder, so to speak. Needless to say it didn't go well," Nordren admitted guiltily.

"I didn't realize things were that bad. There's always a shortage of supplies but to be this close to the rains with an empty storeroom?" Erik said. "We have to do something." 

"I agree, this is a matter of greater importance than any Sith prejudices we may hold," Nordren turned to look at the Jedi. "I need Erik's intel if we have any chance of pulling this of."

"Hmmm," Vae'lo frowned. It was obvious that Erik's little escapade with Lord Kallig still bothered him. A well-deserved distrust of the Sith was ingrained to his core and he was reluctant to let it go. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, searching for peace.

"I suppose the food shortage must take precedence," he said finally. "Erik has given me every reason to trust him. I only hope that it will not be misplaced."

"It won't," he promised.


	8. Down Below

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The gore ramps up a bit from here on out.  
> 

Zsora landed unspectacularly at the bottom of the mining shaft that led into the tunnels beneath Mt. Foane. The gravel crunched beneath her feet as she quickly moved to make way for Khem's descent. 

He followed swiftly, landing with the force of a dreadnought and sending hundreds of the loose stones flying wildly in all directions. The caverns shook from the impact and echoed the sound of his clawed feet making contact with the ground.

Zsora raised a hand to shield herself from the whirlwind of rubble. Each piece of shrapnel was caught in a web of Force energy and suspended in mid-air before it could make contact with her body. 

"Smooth," she said, lowering her hand and letting the rubble fall, adding to the calamity. 

"I am not subtle," Khem growled as he stood up. 

"Well, now that everyone knows we're here, I guess there's no point in _being_ subtle," she replied, examining their surroundings from below. 

Light trickled down from the entrance far above them but barely even touched their heads, perpetuating an eerie twilight. Using her saber as a light source, Zsora examined the spot where Khem had landed. She was sure that the crescendo of displaced detritus had overshadowed a deeper metallic ringing. 

She closed her eyes and spread the Force over the ground like a wave gently licking the beach at low tide, tracing the outline of a large durasteel platform that dominated the cave floor. 

Curious, she pressed her boot down hard and pushed it aside, raking away some of the gravel that obscured the lift. Intrigued, Zsora looked around for the control mechanism and her keen eyes spotted it in the far corner. 

"Khem, there's a switch," she said, pointing at the derelict panel on the wall. Her voice was being modulated through the mask and further distorted by the acoustics of the caverns but her words were clear.

"Hmm," Khem exhaled in acknowledgement. They had fought side by side for so long that it didn't take more than a grunt or a half-formed sentence for them to effectively communicate. He skulked over to the panel as Zsora took a few cautious steps back. 

Several taps from one of his three clawed fingers and the hydraulift platform groaned to life, its rusted parts straining against the rigors of disuse and time. 

Slowly but surely, it began to rise, spilling the loose rubble that had buried it over the sides. Zsora moved further away, into the adjacent tunnel and Khem hurriedly followed suite to avoid the shower of debris. 

"You are not subtle either, little Sith," Khem told her as they listened to the sound of rubble crashing down from the rising platform and echoing deep into the mountain's core. 

His wit and sarcasm were so dry and his appearance so intimidating that Zsora could never truly tell when he was joking. Dashades were a species of proud warriors and assassins. Their faces were permanently set into a menacing grin of fangs and gums, incapable of portraying emotion in a way other species could interpret. 

Zsora had been enduring Khem's jibes ever since she'd released him from his prison within the tomb of Naga Sadow. And though he was bound by honour to serve her, Khem took every opportunity he was given to mock Zsora and anyone else he deemed inferior. Which was practically everyone.

Just then, the hydraulift platform came to a screeching halt at the top of the shaft, eclipsing the entrance entirely and leaving them enveloped in darkness, save for the red glow of Kallig's lightsaber. The lift had been condemned to the depths of the Graveyard, probably as a precaution against anyone foolhardy enough to venture inside. Zsora was glad it still worked, they would have been hard-pressed to get out by themselves.

She turned away and cautiously stole into the tunnel behind them, surveying its uneven structure through the Force as she went. The gravel continued to crunch beneath her feet, but the chunks of loose stone became larger and more brittle with every step, snapping and crackling under her weight. Zsora pointed her saber at the ground, illuminating the cave floor. The bright red blade revealed what she had suspected. 

Bones. 

Littered throughout the tunnel, were a dozen or more skeletons, picked clean by some unknown entity and blanketed with a thick coating of dust. From the shape of the skulls, Zsora could guess that the miners had been almost exclusively human. They had fallen while facing the nearby lift, trying to reach it in time to escape, albeit unsuccessfully. 

She knelt down to brush the dust off a nearby cranium, opening her senses to the Force and letting the powerful emanations of death wash over her mind. She had been so close to dying on so many occasions that the dead would often grow curious of her presence and whisper long forgotten words in her ear. 

This place, this cave. She could feel it practically marinating in the Dark Side of the Force and it wasn't long before the lingering spirits sought a communion. 

A cold chill ran down her spine and her vision blurred as Khem and the skeletons faded away. Bright lamps appeared embedded in the walls, shedding light on the faces of five terrified miners sprinting towards her. Something was chasing them. Killing them. 

Their distance was too great for her to identify the murderer when the first miner fell. She heard screams and the squelching of pierced flesh as the second victim collapsed and died, his colleagues obscuring his executioner from view. The third victim she saw decapitated with a vibroknife that swung viciously into the fourth miner's back and out of his chest. It jerked downwards violently to spill the contents of his innards. The assailant then drove a blade into the heel of the fifth man, who cried out and hopped desperately towards her before collapsing with a thud in the very place she'd found his skull. 

The killer lept into the air and plunged his crooked vibroknife into the back of the felled miner with incredible force, landing right on top of him and right in front of Zsora. He was so close she could smell the putrid scent of his foul breath. The tattered grey jumpsuit that seemed to be the miners' uniform hung loosely from his diminished frame indicating a lengthy stay in the mines with no proper nourishment.

 _"More, more for the master..."_ he muttered hysterically.

His youthful face, now gaunt and savage, was laced with corruption and chunks of his sandy hair appeared to be missing. His eyes were black and mad as he repeatedly drove the dagger into his friend's back. Blood spattered the walls of the tunnel and dripped down in thin red lines until it pooled on the ground. Zsora watched it quickly dry and fade away with the rest of the vision.

Darkness enveloped the tunnel once more and she took a sharp breath to rouse herself from the trance. 

"You saw their deaths," Khem said flatly as she stood back up.

"Yes," she sighed. "Something possessed one of the miners and drove him mad. He slaughtered the rest of them for his _'master'_..." she trailed off ponderously. 

"The spirit we come for?" Khem suggested.

"Possibly," she considered. "Though why would he want the miners dead...?"

 _"You will know soon..."_ said a disembodied voice. The dark presence she had felt from the surface made itself known.

"Show yourself!" Zsora shouted, whirling her lightsaber around to face the dark tunnel before them, poised to defend against any unseen enemies. 

_"Soon..."_ the deep voice repeated, fading away. 

She felt the dark presence dissipate from her senses but remained alert, gripping her weapon tightly. The spirit wanted her to go deeper into the cave. To find him. But for what sinister purpose? This wasn't the first time she had been manipulated by ghosts into doing their bidding, though it could be the last if she wasn't careful. 

Zsora took a deep breath and cautiously continued traversing the tunnel, Khem at her back. She held Kallig's lightsaber aloft, painting the rocky walls a bright shade of red. Tiny shards of ore began appearing in its craggy surface, twinkling with the promise of riches which had no doubt enticed the Danislans to dig deep into the earth. She absently brushed the tips of her five, long fingers against the wall, feeling the rough exterior through her gloves. 

Zsora knew that pureblood Arkanians had only four digits with long, sharp claws on their hands, unsuited for any incredibly dextrous activity but they were also well known for their business acumen and scientific curiousity. To efficiently mine the surface of their home planet, the Arkanians engineered a hybrid sub-species, combining their own genetics with that of a human, creating a workforce specifically tailored for manual labour. These Arkanian Offshoots made excellent slaves. 

Zsora's fingers curled into a fist as she recalled some less than pleasant memories. She had not chosen to be Sith, much like she had not chosen to be a slave. She had been born one. And it didn't help to be reminded of it every time she entered a cave or felt the slave brand beneath her fingers as she combed through her hair. 

Pushing painful thoughts aside, lest they disturb the tentative balance of the Force within, she concentrated on the task at hand. Finding this ghost would not be difficult. He clearly wasn't hiding but binding him to her will could prove a challenge if he didn't cooperate. 

Zsora was on the run. After the mysterious death of her master Darth Zash, Zsora had inherited her powerbase and subsequently risen to the title of Lord herself but that had only attracted the attention of the venerable Darth Thanaton. Not only did he loathe Zash and all she stood for but his staunch traditionalist views of purity cast a long shadow over Zsora's questionable upbringing. As such, it was no surprise when he decided to kill her, only that he sent the young Sith into a old tomb to do it.

But Zsora's connection to the dead proved far greater than Thanaton could have imagined. With the help of her great ancestor, Lord Alloycius Kallig, Zsora learned the Force-walking ritual, allowing her to bind restless spirits to her person, feeding on their energies to fuel her own power. 

No one expected Zsora to return from the tomb of Darth Andru but even with the element of surprise, Thanaton easily bested the young Sith and left her for dead. A mistake, to be sure. Whether it was the spirits within or simply a stubborn refusal to let go, she survived. Smuggled off world by her new apprentices, Zsora endeavoured to scour the galaxy, searching for more Force ghosts to bind, to grow her power and defeat Darth Thanaton before he killed her. Again.

She had already been to Taris and Hoth, successfully bolstering her existing spirit constituency of Lord Erghast and Darth Andru with the ghosts of Kalatosh Zavros and Horak Mul. With her power increased four-fold, Zsora almost felt ready to take on Thanaton, all she needed was one more Force ghost to overpower him.

Zsora's apprentices had found a rumour whispered by Minial Tech that Czerka corporation once attempted to mine for Brelium ore beneath one of the mountains on Danisla. However, the operation had been cut short after mass hysteria about evil spirits and an unfortunate cave-in caused a public incident. It was all hushed up and the workers paid off for their silence to maintain the company's reputation but the mines still remained. 

It was only a few days since Zsora had touched down on Danisla and begun investigating the lead without much luck. Imperial Intelligence had not been very forthcoming, insisting that they knew nothing about anything as was their usual occupation. Their primary objective was to weed out the rebellion and they had no data on any superstitious rumours to present the young Sith who clearly wasn't there to help them. 

It wasn't the first time Zsora had worked with Intelligence. When they said they knew nothing, it usually meant they knew everything but it was highly classified and in the end, it took more than a few hints from Watcher 66 for her to realize that she could questions one of their prisoners about the rumours. She was almost a too late. Another few minutes and Levinus would have taken apart the only source of information she had remaining.

The tunnel began to widen and grow, the ceiling curving up from their approach and the floor sloping downwards slightly. Soon, the space was too big to be brightened by the single beam of light in Zsora's hand. 

After walking a bit further, she paused to examine her surroundings with the Force, feeling the ground expand beneath her. It was similar to the tunnel, gravelly and strewn with bones. A few hover-carts lay abandoned to her right and some derelict mining equipment was strewn about the cavern floor but there was no sign of life.

Until she looked up.


	9. All that glitters.

Zsora was not familiar with the native fauna of Danisla, but she was pretty sure the needle-like fangs on the repulsive creatures hanging from the ceiling were not a sign of passive herbivorism. The fleshy sack-like animals clung to lavender-coloured stalactites protruding from cavern's roof with sharp, tiny claws. Their grotesque heads hung limply, facing the ground, snouts and teeth reared but their eyes were closed.

Were they asleep? If so, why hadn't they awoken when they raised the hydraulift platform, filling the caverns with the tumultuous crescendo of a gravel storm? They weren't reacting to the glow of her lightsaber either. Were they blind? Or merely oblivious? 

She could feel hundreds of tiny heart-beats pulsating through the Force. They weren't dead but this was far deeper than regular sleep. Hibernation?

"Hardly a morsel..." Khem grumbled at her side.

He was right. There was barely any Force energy flowing through them. Even if he ate all three hundred and twenty six beating hearts, it would barely last him an hour. Dashades gained sustenance by feasting on the Force energy within living creatures and as Khem's master, Zsora provided him with an ample supply of enemies to drain and feed on. In some extreme cases, she allowed him to use her own power reserves but that had not happened in some time.

"We keep moving," she said decisively.

The Force showed her several pathways leading out of the cavern and she chose to follow the scent of darkness creeping out of the tunnel furthest from them. The crunch of gravel interspersed with the snapping of bones continued to irritate her ears as they made their way across the cave floor. She didn't like making so much noise when she moved but using stealth could mean losing her perception of the Force and she grit her teeth to bear it.

The bones grew more and more clustered, forming small mounds tinted red by the glow of Kallig's lightsaber. Zsora thought she saw something sparkle in one of the mounds and stopped to inspect it. With a deft hand, she scattered the metatarsals and femurs from the top of the heap and revealed an exquisite purple gem resting inside a broken ribcage.

It was beautiful. A perfect cut. Her fingers brushed the edge softly as she inspected the strange stone, its many surfaces refracting shades of reddish mauve. Zsora picked up the gem but before she could pocket it, the tiny heartbeats on the ceiling surged into a rhythmic chorus.

She turned to see hundreds of the ceiling-bound creatures detach from their stalactite pillars and fall onto the cave floor. Their large, compound eyes opened, suddenly alert. 

Khem drew his vibroblade and slashed at two of them without blinking, sending a fountain of black blood spraying through the air.

Zsora quickly joined him, stashing the gem and sweeping several more of the creatures in a wide arc with her lightsaber. They split in half, corterized by the plasma blade but didn't die. Instead, each piece began moving towards them independently.

Khem was having similar trouble as the fragmented little creatures kept approaching even after he split them open repeatedly. More continued to fall from the ceiling in an overwhelming wave of aerial attack. 

Zsora drew a second lightsaber from her robes, this one had been Darth Zash's gift to her apprentice. It was simple but sturdy and she wielded it in an underhanded grip to quell the overwhelming stream of creatures ambushing them from all sides.

A stab, a sweep, riposte, slice, cut, a cross. Nothing seemed to permanently subdue the creatures until they had been sliced into pieces so small they could not be seen beneath the mangled bodies of their peers. 

Khem swung his enourmous vibroblade through the horde, again and again. A single stroke halving six beasts at a time, only to fall into the writhing mounds beneath his feet and continue their assault.

Zsora danced her blades into every weakpoint she could conceive. Through the eye, the heart, the brain, the spindly limbs. But the creatures did not seem to require any of them to continue living. A few had even begun to crawl back together and heal the rift which disconnected their body parts, entering the fight intact once more.

It was hopeless. She had to try something different.

"BRACE!" she yelled to Khem who fell to one knee planting his vibroblade firmly into the ground and gripped the hilt tight.

Zsora switched off her lightsabers and clipped them back onto her belt. She breathed out and jumped high into the air, clearing at least ten metres before hurtling back to the ground with incredible force, a fist aimed directly downwards.

She landed with a defeaning crash of Force energy that sent a wave of air shooting out through the caverns. Bones, creatures, gravel and much of the heavy equipment was sent flying out of the ring surrounding her, to the very edges of the cave. Only Khem remained at her side, clutching his blade tightly, more than able to withstand the force of the impact.

Before the creatures could regroup, Zsora began to summon lightning. It was not easy to control and she needed a temporary reprieve from the mass of writhing alien forms to concentrate. With a deep breath, she cautiously allowed the darkest parts of her mind to freely spill forth their bile and hatred. It flooded through the bloody catacombs of her body and she felt her eyes burning with a lethal fire.

Channeling the power into her hands, Zsora felt the first sparks of lightning sizzle between her fingertips. She remembered the first time she had felt the power surging through her body, the tendrils of darkness passing through her insides, gorging on hatred and fury to project something far worse. Fear.

The spindly creatures were recovering now, their tiny bodies scrambling towards them to retrieve their precious gem and slaughter them.

But Zsora had other plans. 

As the first imp-like creature broke into a sprint, she unleashed a great bolt of lighting from her right hand which hit it squarely in the face. Thunder roared as the heat blasted skin and organs from bone until those too, melted away, leaving nothing but cinders and ash.

She felt a sick smile spread across her face as she unleashed another arc of blue lightning into the pile of creatures collected at the very edge of the cavern, illuminating the dark chamber as it chained through each of their little bodies. She fed the stream of energy with her second hand and incinerated every last one of them, the crackle of electricity echoing loudly throughout the cavern.

Soon, not a single one remained and the chamber was pitch-black once more. But it was the darkness inside Zsora that was more troubling. It was no small feat to regain control and retain her mind against the powerful forces she was wielding. Each ghost she had bound presented new difficulties in restraining herself from going too far and she had secretly begun preferring lightsaber combat to the use of Force abilities.

_"such power..._

_you will do nicely..."_

the ethereal whispers brought Zsora out of her meditative state.

The spirit.

He was trying to contact her again.

"Where are you?" she called out, her words echoing out through the chamber.

 _"Come to me..."_ a deep voice breathed and Zsora could feel a small fire kindling in the distant passageways of the mines.

She pulled out her lightsaber again to light the way and watch Khem wrestle his vibroblade out of the ground.

"I follow your lead, little Sith," he growled.

Zsora nodded.


	10. To Spring A Trap

The path took them deeper into the mines. The skeletal remains of the workers grew fewer in number and the echo of their steps vanished into the shadow of the narrowing tunnels. 

Zsora could feel the darkness gathering within a distant font of energy in the Force. It was no wonder so many people had gone mad down there. The entire mountain reaked of death and decay, almost like she was back on Korriban.

The walls of the cave grew outward into a small pocket of air which could be considered a room. Within, a large industrial laser drill lay toppled on its side, huge dents covering its durasteel exterior. Something immensely strong had tossed it aside and barged through the opening in the crumbling far wall.

Zsora approached cautiously, lightsaber held high to protect as much as to illuminate. Something that size could not have fit through the tunnel behind them. Most likely, it had returned through the hole in the wall to whatever underground structure lay beyond. 

"Our enemy is strong," Khem growled, examining the wreck of the drill. "His power will serve you well."

But Zsora was not so sure.

"I think we have more than one enemy in these caves," she said as they stepped over the threshold.

The hole in the wall led out into a stone passage trimmed and decorated with elegant pillars and carvings. Each tile on the floor was engraved with a different composition of ancient characters which Zsora soon recognized. A great statue of an amphibious alien with a tall forehead and eyestalks to either side of his face was sculpted to hold up the ceiling. 

"Rakata," she whispered at the statue as her lightsaber bathed it in red.

She looked up at the tall slim figure and let the dark energy within her swell and pulse throughout the passage. The energy diffused into the walls and equidistant shards of iridescent crystal began to glow with a faint green light, illuminating the voluminous hallway. 

"That explains the miners..." she said, lowering her weapon.

The Rakata were an ancient species of alien whose Infinite Empire once spanned over five hundred Force-rich worlds. They harnessed the power of the Dark Side creating advanced technologies to enslave the greater galaxy and shape it to suit their needs. 

Zsora had encounted a similar structure beneath the Dune Sea on Tatooine, built as a prison to house a dangerous Rakatan criminal who had imbued nanobots with Dark Force energy to take control of other sentients from the inside. It had not been a pleasant experience.

"I sense danger, Little Sith," Khem grumbled through the shady emanations of the light crystals. 

"As always," she smirked and ventured deeper into the ruins of the Rakatan superstructure.

Khem grunted and drew his vibroblade. Zsora felt it too, this place was oppressive as well as impressive.

They passed by another statue, this one depicting a Rakatan warrior holding a sword with both hands while kneeling. Zsora felt the gem in her pocket heating up and stopped to examine it. She brought out the purple stone, only to feel the warmth intensify in the palm of her hand. Through the Force, she could hear it calling out for something, attempting to stretch well past its physical limitations. And this statue was the key.

She glanced behind the warrior's broadsword and sure enough, a twin gem sat waiting for her to take it. 

_"A little too easy,"_ she thought to herself. 

There was no way of knowing what kind of dubious powers this second stone had, and the emerald green colouring was not very reassuring. Still, they obviously had some kind of significance and Zsora could not keep herself from collecting such trinkets.

"Ready for another trap?" she asked Khem with a hidden smile.

"As always," he growled in reply.

Zsora wasted no time. She picked up the gem and pocketed them both, drawing her lightsabers in anticipation of the coming challenge. They stood back to back, waiting for more deadly adversaries but none came.

Letting the Force sharpen her senses, her mind flooded with all the little details of her surroundings. The hum of her lightsabers, the distorted sound of her own breathing, the ancient stone walls, the carved stone ceilings, the silky black ooze spilling over the tiled floor.

"What?"

She spun around in time to see a large vent open up behind them, spewing a viscous black liquid remarkably similar to the one bled by the creatures in the mines. It slowly spewed forth from an underground orifice with an unpleasant squelching sound and Zsora could tell that it was not something she wanted to bathe in.

"Run," she said, sheathing her weapons as the black sea swelled towards them, swallowing several stones with a sizzling hiss. "RUN!"

Khem hefted his vibroblade over his shoulder and broke into a sprint behind her. They ran flat out down the dark corridor, into the murky abyss of the Rakatan ruins. Zsora flared out Dark Force energy from her hands to power the wall crystals and light the way, narrowly avoiding a wall to the face with a right turn.

The black waves of liquid were picking up speed and sloshing through the corridors behind them, she could hear it. There didn't seem to be an end to these long hallways but she couldn't keep running forever, especially in this clunky armour. 

She sprinted past another statue of a Rakatan warrior and an idea began to germinate in her brain. With a claw-like grip on the Force, she held out her hand as she passed the next statue and yanked it straight off its supports, letting the stone behemoth crash to the ground. The vibrations echoed throughout the hall but did little to stop the speeding river of toxic ooze floating their way.

The smell had become mightier than a Hutt's armflap. An organic concoction. Perhaps even the disposable waste of the Rakatan sanctum. But it didn't make her feel any better knowing they would die drowning in a river alien excreta.

Zsora threw up two hands and gritted her teeth. With a sharp exhalation, she pulled multiple statues down to cross over in front of the incoming lake of lugubrious liquid gliding towards them. They crashed with an even greater tumult but soon disappeared beneath the murky depths of the approaching sludge and Zsora broke into a sprint once more to get away.

She quickly caught up to Khem who was running out of steam. She could hear his laboured grunting with each breath and she wasn't faring any better. Zsora reached into the Force for energy, for clarity, for ideas, but the Dark Side wasn't very useful for any of those things. It knew only power and how to take it, build it, crush it. It would have to do.

Zsora let the floodgates of her mind spill a dark ooze of their own and pulled in the Force energy surrounding them. She lifted Khem into the air and tossed his hulking mass all the way down the hall before turning to face the deluge of darkness behind her.

She knitted together the invisible energies of the Force to create a restraining web against the black tide which crashed against the fabricated wall, frothing with foul, grey foam. Zsora held tight, feeling the pressure build up behind the barrier she was creating. 

Her eyes were burning. She could feel the power now, coursing through her veins but lightning wasn't going to help her this time.

She glanced left and right, spotting two Rakatan statues holding up the ceiling and another statue of a warrior in the far corner of her vision. Tentatively transferring all her power to one hand, Zsora splayed her fingers to maintain control of the barrier. When she was satisfied she could hold it, she raised the other hand to coerce a statue out of its socket. The stone Rakata shook and rattled but refused to budge. 

A spark of irritation lit a raging fire in her heart and with a scream, Zsora tore the statue out completely, along with some of the wall. It collapsed by her feet with a defeaning crack and shattered into a hundred different pieces.

She wasted no time in bringing down the second statue, shaking the very foundations of the floor beneath her while holding the black sea of death just out of reach. Finally, she ripped the warrior statue off its supports and levitated the unwieldy shape between herself and the wall of Force energy. 

Her muscles grew taught with the strain and the grimace on her face widened as she groaned with the effort. A final drop of rage fuelled the fire within and her eyes burned away into orbs of yellow.

Then she slammed the statue up into the ceiling, shaking the ancient halls once again. But they didn't break, a testament to the wonders of Rakatan engineering. 

It did little to quell Zsora's fury. She was not going to die down there. She knew it.

With a furious scream, she slammed the statue into the ground which shook with unyielding tremours while the liquid behind her Force barrier churned and stirred voraciously. Again, she slammed the statue into the ceiling and into the ground. And again. And again.

She could no longer feel her hands, her arms, herself. The strain was too much, even with the enveloping darkness.

She gritted her teeth and with one final shove, she cracked open the ceiling and then the ground.

Giant fragments of stone gave way above her head and fell on top of the weakened floor, punching a hole down into a lower level of the ruins. Zsora let go of the Force web keeping the black liquid at bay and it poured swiftly down the newly opened breach in the tiled floor.

She fell to her knees and watched the multitudes of black ooze surge down into the dark pit below, as though it were returning to its original state.

Zsora was so short of breath that when she attempted to inhale, she began coughing instead, the coarseness of her throat betraying her. 

"These trinkets will be the death of you, Little Sith," Khem growled behind her.

Zsora's cough devolved into a dry laugh, made all the more eerie by Kallig's helmet.

"As long as they're mine, Khem," she grinned. "As long as they're mine."


	11. Death's Embrace

Zsora rested against the wall of the Rakatan ruin beneath the mines. She needed a break after the unexpected marathon brought on by a mysterious green gem. The stone in question was hardly bigger than the palm of her hand but its energy was remarkable. It was like holding a bricket of coal just as the embers were catching fire.

The same could be said for the second stone, or perhaps rather, the first. Its purple sheen was dull beneath the iridescent green of the Rakatan light crystal above her head. Zsora examined the gems with great interest, wondering what special properties they were imbued with by the ancient aliens to give them such power.

She had been searching for crystals to construct her own lightsaber for quite some time now. Her interest in artifice had led her to build multiple prototypes of various designs but none of them truly embodied her desires. No matter how long a synthetic crystal was heated and subjected to immense pressure through the Force, the resulting blade was still bright enough to be seen from a hundred klicks away. And the sound. Oh, how it would screech and bray when summoned from its hilt.

Zsora hated the noise and the brightness and the heat. It was impossible to be stealthy when your main weapon was a burning sword of red plasma, no matter how dark your heart was. She'd been experimenting with the augmentation of synthetic crystals through heat treatment and redirection through several supplementary Rubat crystals but the result had yielded a pure white blade that was even brighter than her regular ones. 

She began to wonder whether a naturally grown crystal would produce something similar to what she had in mind. After all, each Jedi's lightsaber was a different colour, slight but noticable variances in the vibrance and density of the blade. Perhaps these gems could-

"We should keep moving," Khem grumbled. "I can sense our enemies approach."

Zsora shook her head, scattering her intrepid thoughts. She too could feel something sinister just around the corner.

_"You feel it, don't you?_

 _The darkness._

_They hoard their secrets beneath the ground..."_

whispered the omnidirectional spirit's voice.

"You know it would help if you told me where you were," Zsora said. She was getting tired of being strung along by this ethereal fiend. The other Force ghosts had been a lot more forthcoming about their intentions, either with instant aggression or rigid bargaining but this one...

Something was different.

Zsora rose to her feet and drew her lightsaber again. The clack of metal feet pattered down the long stone hall and into her ears as she spread her senses to encompass their surroundings. She could feel the cool surface of the ancient droid chassis as they marched in time to some indeterminate internal clock.

"Guardians," she whispered to Khem without turning the corner. "Twelve of them. Neck supports are thinnest."

"Hmmm," Khem grunted, reaching for his own blade.

They waited. The droids were coming to them, there was no need to complicate things. These types of ruins always had some sort of ageless sentinel. In the case of the Rakata, their Infinite Empire had long ago perfected the technology for autonomous droid assembly and programming. It was perhaps one of their greatest achievements, creating infinite self-sufficient armies with barely any labour at all.

The first two droids turned the corner and were immediately beheaded by vibroblade and lightsaber, their vibrobrains bouncing off the floor as their bodies collapsed on themselves.

Zsora ducked down as Khem swung his blade in a wide sweeping motion and decapitated the next pair of droids. She quickly rose and performed two quick stabs into the eye sockets of the subsequent couple and leapt into the air, flipping over the group, just as Khem swung another deadly blow back the other way.

Zsora landed beside the droid company and swiftly disabled their weapons with a flourish of red light, sending mechanical limbs tumbling to the ground and quickly moving to behead the machines at the end of the procession. Within seconds, she and Khem had met in the middle of a large pile of spare parts, back to back and ready for round two.

There was a loud whirring at the end of the grand hall where a giant machine of exposed circuitry commenced construction on a new set of droids almost immediately. Beginning at the ceiling where ore was smelted and refined into metal, mechanical limbs were cast from pre-prepared moulds and subsequently sent down the assembly line to autonomous arms for wiring. Finishing neatly at the bottom with the addition of circuitry to the droid heads and the successional programming which took less than a millisecond through data spike.

Zsora watched the machine create twelve new guardian droids which rolled off the assembly line at the bottom of the compact factory, picking up an ancient rifle as they stepped out into the grand hall, visual sensors trained on the trespassers.

She tilted her head and gave Khem a knowing look which she realized he probably couldn't see through the mask but he didn't need to.

"Take out the machine," he growled. "The metal men are mine."

Zsora realized that the droids were powered by a Rakatan energy core which was steeped in the dark power of the Force. A delectable snack for her favourite Force-eating companion. She smiled and nodded.

And they were off.

Zsora disappeared into the ether as Khem came rushing at the horde of droids with his vicious vibroblade. It was almost as tall as he was and Khem had no trouble cutting through four droids in one servo-scrapping slice. He towered above the lanky man-machines by two heads and his cybernetic implants glowed red in the dim light of the wall crystals. Each muscle quivered through his gargantuous beastial form as he swung the saw-like blade from left to right and removed another three droids from existence. He inhaled deeply, absorbing the essence of the fallen to power his consecutively devastating blows until there was not a single droid left standing.

Meanwhile, Zsora had climbed to the top of the massive machine which was already hard at work on their next batch of enemies. With her lightsaber underhand, she stabbed a hole into the smelting furnace, spilling molten liquid down through the machine's sensitive core. She quickly swung to the side and slid down a supporting pole, shearing the moulds in half and letting them plummet down into the bowels of the apparatus. Finally, she plunged her lightsaber into the ancient steel casque covering the penultimate assembly components and slid all the way down to the bottom, carving through the casing like it was butter.

She gracefully alighted from the slide and with a wide sweeping motion, sliced the final assembly point in half.

The machine groaned and spat and wretched molten metal and electrical discharge, sputtering through the damage as it desperately tried to continue the manufacture of droids to defend itself. All in vain.

Zsora walked away towards Khem who was absorbing the Force energy from the defunct droids at his feet. 

"Full up?" she asked as the machine exploded behind her, sending parts flying all throughout the grand hall. But none of them even touched even a hair on her head as she stitched together a shield of Force energy. 

"It is enough," Khem grunted to acquiesce. 

Zsora turned back to look at her handiwork, admiring the sizzling circuits and burning bodies of half formed droids jammed within the cogs of the great machine. She almost felt sorry for it. How many millenia had it been down here? Patiently carrying out its duty, the product of a civilization so advanced it had all but created the notion of galactic imperialism. 

But that was pretty much all the Sith ever did - swoop in and destroy everything. Or steal it. 

As she stared into the flames, a low rumbling began to shake the ground on which they stood. At first, she attributed it to the crumbling droid assembly unit but then the trembling grew more turbulent.

Zsora drew her second lightsaber. Something was coming. She listened through the whirring and sputtering of the dying machine, trying to identify where the vibrations were coming from. And then she heard it. The sound of gigantic clawed feet pounding the ground in a heavy run. And it was coming this way.

Zsora threw up a hand that swept Khem off his feet and Force-pushed him over to the far wall, out of reach. She dove to the side herself and rolled away as the machine groaned and flew off its hinges, propelled forward by an enourmous beast.

Thrice as tall as Khem at full height, the creature stood on two clawed hind feet. Its great, hunched back was covered in razor-sharp spines protruding frightfully outwards whenever it leaned down. 

The creature tore through the remains of the machine and turned to face them. Its massive head, a collection of fangs and tusks and opaque white eyes. It was blind, but still deadly. It seemed to be using a seperate sensory function to detect their movement and Zsora quickly realized what it was when it swung two massive claws down at her.

She rolled away in time to avoid the tile-splitting impact and quickly rose to her feet, putting distance between her and the Terentatek. 

They were Sith creation. Either an alchemical hybridization of several dark creatures or simply the corruption of a very large Rancor, it could only be speculated. But it was certainly proven to be a product of the Dark Side of the Force.

Terentateks were vicious animals, bred by the Sith to kill Jedi in particular. They were infused with Dark Side energy but simultaneously impervious to the Living Force, and venomous besides. The ultimate predator. Many Sith elected to have Terentateks caged in their tombs upon death to prevent grave-robbing which meant they were getting close to the mysterious Ghost's final resting place.

The monster was following her scent, the distinct blue energy signature aglow against the dark mauve of the ruins. And it moved fast, pummeling and scratching at the ground where Zsora had been standing only seconds before. It took some fancy footwork to stay one step ahead and when she finally had enough distance between them, she vanished, lightsabers and all.

Zsora's true power was not to become some conduit for massive amounts of dark energy, spewing lightning at her enemies, though she could very well do so. No. She was capable of the exact opposite. Zsora could reject the Force from her body almost entirely, leaving the bare minimum of energy required to even support life. She expelled every midichlorian from her being, spreading them equally over a great distance to hide her power. The process left her cold, so very cold. And unable to move with her usual swiftness but it worked.

The Terentatek stopped, unable to perceive his prey. Its horrible head swivelled from left to right, trying to locate the missing Sith. But the blue blaze of Zsora's energy was gone and the creature could see only a smaller red flame rushing towards it as Khem attacked. 

He swung his vibroblade into the Terentatek's leg but it didn't cut through the scaly hide, instead screeching along the ankle with a strained friction. The powerful slash left little more than a scratch and the beast roared in anger, swatting at Khem with it huge clawed arms. But the Dashade was no stranger to battle. He parried each mindless slash with a steady hand, defending himself admirably.

Suddenly a blaze of sound rang out above the Terentatek's head as Zsora plummeted down from a great height, unleashing her lightsabers and stabbing them down into the beast's back. But there was no penetration. Both lightsabers sparked and fizzled out upon contact with the monstrosity's armour-plated skin and Zsora was left precariously perched on top of its spiky crown with no weapons.

Perceiving a burning blue fire atop his head, the Terentatek began to buck, throwing its large claws up in an attempt to shake her off.

Zsora couldn't stay balanced for long. The spines of the Terentatek were tipped with venom and she couldn't grab hold of its rearing skull to find purchase. The beast jerked its head again and Zsora fell forward, grabbing onto one of its tusks before reaching the ground. She clung tightly to the long protruberance as Khem used the opportunity to strike at the creature's leg once again. With an identical slash, he tore open the existing scratch, revealing the dark purple flesh beneath and spilling black blood from the wound.

The Terentatek roared again, louder. It swung around with incredible speed, smashing a claw into Khem's blade but the Dashade couldn't stand against the force of such a blow. He was flung against the far wall with bone-shattering force as Zsora did her best not to let go of the Terentatek's tusk.

She kicked out at the giant white eye that glared menacingly out of its scaly socket. This angered the beast even further. It roared and threw both claws into the air, bringing them down to the ground with an earth-shaking impact. Zsora was thrown off, falling from a lesser elevation than the beast's full height but still landing painfully on the ruined floor. She tried to move away but the creature was faster than she anticipated. It stomped an enourmous foot down into her back and she heard the ear-splitting crack of her pauldron snapping in half. 

If it wasn't for the reinforced durasteel of her armour, imbued with the dark power of several protective sigils, she would no longer have an arm. Or a life. Zsora wrestled beneath the giant clawed foot but it had her pinned down. The Terentatek was most perplexed as to why she was still squirming and pushed down harder.

Zsora could feel the broken durasteel pressing deeper into her shoulder. The back of her helmet was being pressured into her head as well and there was little she could do. The Force was physically useless against the Terentatek and if she let go of the Force in her own body, she would be crushed under its weight. All she could do was endure.

Suddenly the pressure lessened. Zsora could breathe again. The humongous clawed appendage holding her down slowly pulled back and gave her enough room to crawl away. She scrambled out and up and over to the other side of the hall as quickly as she could turning back to see the creature roar as Khem pulled it back by the tail, his muscular arms straining from the effort. 

"Run!" he growled through clenched fangs, struggling against the Teretatek's pull.

But Zsora would not run. She was in the perfect position to end this. Her power was not limited to expelling the Force from her own body. With her eyes closed, she could feel it flowing through every fibre of the monster's being as well. She spread her hands wide and clutched at the invisible threads of the Force weaving their way through the monster's blood, through its veins, to its very heart and she wrenched them out.

Tiny invisible particles of Force energy forsook the creature, spreading wide across the grand hall. The Terentatek began to weaken and flakes of frost formed on its ferocious face, spreading over its grotesque form like a blanket of cold. Zsora clenched her hands into wicked claws, gripping the remaining Force energy tightly and disseminating the heat which kept it alive. 

The Decaying Force was as much a part of the universe as the Living Force. What was tied together by the fabric of life must also be cut down by the augers of death. And Zsora was such a weapon. With clarity of mind and years of trial and error, she had successfully hidden her power from those who would send her to Korriban to be Sith and although her Force-sensitivity had been discovered, her true power was still very much a secret to all but a priveleged few.

Khem let go of the creature which was seemingly frozen in place. Zsora knew the feeling. First, paralysis, then your extremeties went numb, a chill entered your veins and spread through your body, cooling your core temperature and slowing your heart. It became difficult to move, breathe, to think but the cold left you so tired you wanted nothing more than to fall asleep and never wake up. And when you thought that all the warmth in the world had been extinguished, all you could think of was "Good," before the void swallowed you.

The creature grew heavier and lamer with every second. Soon, it was unable to support its own weight and without Khem to hold it back, the Terentatek withered and collapsed, shaking the foundations of the hall so that rubble fell from the crumbling ceiling.

Finally, Zsora relented. She released her grip on the invisible energy surrounding them and her arms slumped down in front of her from the strain. Frost had formed on her gloves as well and she couldn't feel her hands. She felt incredibly sleepy as she slowly sat down to catch her breath. Clouds of vapour formed as the air passed through her mask. 

"You smell like death, little Sith," Khem grumbled from above, towering over her.

"It's cold..." she whispered, rubbing her hands together for warmth. "But at least you'll have something to eat" she smiled.

Khem shook his head "There's nothing left to devour...."

"Oh," she said dumbly. 

The cold was numbing her mind. She needed warmth and energy to recover and without thinking she pulled the two gems out of her pockets and gently traced their shape.


	12. The Apprentice

"Excellent, you already have two of the keystones," crooned a disembodied voice in Zsora's ear.

It wasn't the same as the one she'd heard before. It was female, younger and altogether too cheerful to belong to an ancient Sith but that was exactly who it was.

Zsora looked up to see the ghostly form of a woman not much older than herself, dressed in lavish robes of crimson shimmersilk, festooned with golden brooches which pinned the many folds of her garments into place. Her face and eyes were red, her cheekbones covered in bony spurs. A Sith Pureblood. 

"I take it, there are more," Zsora looked up at the semi-transparent stranger.

"Another to complete the set," she replied enthusiastically. "Oh, where are my manners. My name is Ferya Coltrin. I was apprentice to the late Lord Polgax, before I died."

"Is that who's been whispering in my ear?" Zsora asked, rising to her feet.

Khem could not see the apparition but he knew his master wasn't hallucinating. He waited patiently for her to continue the conversation with the invisible newcomer at his side.

"Yes, I'm afraid my master was trying to summon you to his final resting place, it's a bit deeper in," Ferya said. "He's terribly weak but he thinks he can overpower you and take your body for his own," she giggled.

"Typical," Zsora scoffed, more than fed up with every ghost trying to pull the same trick.

"Men are so crude, aren't they? Always trying to take everything by force when all that's needed is a little guile," Ferya giggled again.

Zsora narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "And I'm supposed to believe you don't want to possess me too?"

"Oh no, no. Nothing of the sort," Ferya crooned. "Not when there are such wonders to be found down here. And an eternity in which to find them." She spun around with her hands stretched out. "Do you know where we are?"

Zsora looked around the remains of the ruined great hall, examining the tall pillars holding up the ceiling. "It looks like the remains of a Rakatan forge..." 

"Not a forge, no. The droids you encountered were merely guardians of a Rakatan terraforming machine. This entire structure runs deep below the surface and throughout the entire planet," Ferya explained. 

"Is that why your master came here?"

"Yes. Lord Polgax was searching for a way to make inhospitable planets livable again. Thus proving that the Sith could conquer even the elements. A flighty dream, but he was rather insane..." she shrugged.

"And you followed him?"

"I had to," she said, "he was my master. Besides, this was the perfect place to kill him." A happy smile danced across her face.

Zsora was all too familiar with the Sith's treacherous ways. An apprentice was bound to serve their master until such a time that one killed the other but never in public, of course. Zsora's own master, Darth Zash, had been grooming her for over a year, preparing eveything for her ascension to Lord of the Sith before trying to use a force ritual to take over her body. But the ritual backfired and now Zash was stuck inside Khem, breaking through occasionally to dispense Sithly knowledge and wisdom to her former apprentice.

"You were successful then?" Zsora asked, alluding to the death of Lord Polgax.

"Oh yes, he was dead before we ever found the Conduit," Ferya replied wistfully. "You should never forget to feed your Terentatek."

Zsora glanced towards the hulking mass of frozen spines and scales across the room. _"That would do it..."_

"So what do you want from me?" Zsora asked bluntly, regaining some feeling in her extremeties as her core body temperature steadily rose.

"Well, since you asked, I would like your assistance," she said, clasping her hands together. "You see, I was on the verge of discovering how the terraforming process worked before my untimely demise. There are three keystones that belong to a Conduit. Once placed inside and charged with dark energy, they will activate the machine and reveal the secrets to the Rakata's planetary terraforming techniques. Just imagine it. The power to remake worlds..." she explained giddily.

"And you would do what with this power exactly?" Zsora asked, folding her arms. She suddenly imagined the Pureblood Ghost setting Danisla on fire from the inside out.

"Why learn, of course. You don't believe in knowledge for the sake of knowledge?" she chastized.

"Not when Sith are involved."

"Apprentice, I am disappointed in you," Darth Zash's voice rang out of Khem's mouth. She had broken through again. "You should jump at the chance to discover such ancient power. Have I taught you nothing?"

"You taught me to expect betrayal and lies first, master. A passion for archaeology and ancient power, second." Zsora smirked derisively. "I came here to bind the spirit of a Sith Lord and that's what I intend to do."

"Well then, how about an exchange? Help me activate the machine and I will show you where my master fell. I doubt you'll be able to find it on your own..." Ferya claimed confidently.

Zsora sighed. This was feeling all too familiar. Sith were only friendly when they needed something. She remembered Horak Mul's petty little request to destroy the Sadowe'en Temple on Hoth. That hadn't been so bad. Perhaps she should accept the offer? It wasn't like she had a concrete plan on how to find the spirit and searching the entire Rakatan ruin could take weeks.

"Fine," Zsora conceded.

"Excellent," Ferya chirped. "There's only one stone remaining and I have a feeling you're just the person to collect it."

"Why are they all scattered like this?" Zsora asked curiously, pocketing the gems.

"Ah, well, the darkness inside them may have driven my slaves a little mad..." she confessed. "They started mumbling something in Rakatan and absconded with the keystones before I could stop them. Mindless vermin."

"Where's this third keystone then?" Zsora asked. She lifted a hand into the air and bade her fallen lightsabers to levitate towards her, catching one in each hand. She tried switching them on but they wouldn't budge. 

"It's not far. If you'll follow me..." Ferya waved a hand to beckon them and floated wistfully towards an elegant archway.

Zsora followed, examining her lightsabers as she walked. The Teretatek's scaly flesh had broken the magnetic field controlling the size of the plasma beam and with nowhere to go, the energy had fried the emitter matrix. Both lightsabers would need repair when she returned to the ship but for now she hung them on her belt and let them be.

"I do not like this, master," Khem growled behind her as they passed through the voluminous halls of the Rakatan ruins.

"Nice to have you back with us," Zsora gibed, legitimately glad to have her old companion back. She was still unsettled every time Zash reared Khem's ugly head.

"This place has claimed uncounted lives for millenia. Their screams echo through the halls," he grumbled, ignoring her jest.

"I feel it, too. We'll be out of here as soon as we can, I promise," she said over her shoulder. 

Suddenly, a great stabbing pain pierced her scapula and she quickly turned back to face forward. The crack in her right pauldron had split her armour in half and whenever she turned, one or the other side would slip out and drill into her flesh. She hissed and massaged the sharp pain in her right shoulder. The armour had done its job but now it was becoming a hindrance.

With a hard grip on the durasteel slab and a stout yank, she tore the damaged pauldron from her shoulder and discarded the broken chunk on the ground. Her shoulder was freed of the heavy hindrance. She reached out her arm and tested the newfound reach and flexibility of her right side.

Zsora was much more partial to wearing lighter robes and trousers but the life-threatening conditions that made up her day to day activities often called for more robust protection. Beneath the armour, she wore a plain navy tunic with many folds to give it the appearance of a full set of Sith robes. Traditional garments had multiple layers and elaborate decorations to symbolize power but they were essentially useless in battle. Zsora couldn't stand tripping over her own feet. She needed to run and to jump and she couldn't do so with fifty skirts that did nothing but make her enemies wonder how she ever moved at all. 

The increased freedom and decreased weight of her fractured armour added a spring to her step as she followed the floating apparition through the ancient ruins.

"We're almost there," Ferya chanted as they turned a dark corner.

"I hope so..."


	13. Trial by Fire

If Zsora expected anything, it was not a lake of boiling lava far below them as they left the Rakatan ruins and ventured into the depths of the planet's core. Then again, it was entirely logical that an ancient terraforming device would tap into the planet's geothermal energy resources and she shook her head and sighed. 

They crossed the threshold from magnificent ancient ruin into the decrepit lava cave and walked the pumicey floor to the edge of the plateau. A quick glance down indeed confirmed the presense of immensely hot magma, red and aglow.

"I don't think I can swim through that," she relayed casually to the ghost of Ferya Coltrin. "Khem, how's your selkath-stroke?"

The Dashade did not reply but folded his arms moodily in front of him. Unamused. At least Zsora thought he wasn't amused...

"You seemed more than adept at icing over the Terentatek. I thought this would be no trouble for you..." Ferya said innocently.

"I wasn't ici- Forget it. Where's the keystone?" 

"Over there," Ferya pointed a ghostly red finger towards the other side of the cave where the plateau continued.

Zsora could see something shiny glistening in the distance, perched on a boulder covered with the skeletal remains of one of Ferya's slaves. Between them, a great chasm opened up onto the lava lake and there was at least 200 metres to cross before they could reach the other side.

"How in the galaxy did they get over there?" Zsora asked.

"Well there used to be a bridge..." Freya admitted guiltily.

Zsora could easily imagine the frivolous Sith angrily collapsing the ground beneath her treacherous slaves and watching them drown and boil in the magma below. She must have been mortified to discover that one of the slaves had actually made it across the chasm.

"It's too far to pull. I can barely see it," she looked out into the distance. "And the heat is masking its energy, I can't feel its precise location..."

"Can't you just freeze the lava?" Ferya demanded.

"It's more complicated than that." Zsora reasoned, unenthusiastic about explaining her powers to an ancient spirit with such a childish personality.

"Khem, how far do you think you can throw this rock?" she said, picking up a large pumice stone from the ground.

The Dashade uncrossed his arms and took the hefty block from her. He walked over to the edge of the plateau and raised the rock over his shoulder. Then, with a loud grunt, he pelted the stone at the other side of the cave with such incredible force that it crashed into the wall on the other side and shattered into a million pieces, falling several hundred metres down to where they melted into the lava.

"Impressive," Ferya began to say, "but how does that help us?"

Zsora nodded to Khem as they walked away from the edge of the cliff. She squatted down and gripped her legs tightly with her arms.

"You're not going to..."

Khem inhaled and exhaled deeply, feeding on the Force energy Zsora was giving him. His huge muscles flexed as he grabbed Zsora's remaining pauldron and gripped it tightly.

"No, no, no. You won't make it! It's too far." 

But it was too late. Khem picked up Zsora and swung her around and around, gaining momentum as he inched ever closer to the lava-filled chasm. One final step towards the edge and he released the balled up Sith Lord, launching her clear across the boiling abyss.

Zsora quickly unfurled into a more aerodynamic position, straightening into a horizontal line to keep her body from creating any resistance to the hot air. She concentrated the Force beneath her, maximising the lift of Khem's throw. Within seconds, she had crossed more than half the distance between the two plateaus and began to feel the downward slope of the fall.

She held her position for as long as she could and in the final 30 metres, Zsora flipped her legs over her head and splayed out her hands Force-pushing over the remaining distance. She landed on her feet and rolled into the momentum, dispersing the impact.

"Easy," she said to herself as she stood up and brushed the ash from her robes. It wasn't the first time she'd flown Sith Express over a giant chasm. There hadn't been a lake of lava the first time but she was confident the technique could be used interchangeably. The downside was that she was now trapped on this side without any discernible way to return. 

_"One step at a time,"_ she told herself. _"Now, let's have this gem,"_ she thought as she approached the skeleton draped boulder.

A black jewel, identical to the ones in Zsora's pocket, lay overturned by a group of fleshless phalanges, glittering eerily in the red light. She reached for it but hesitated. Knowing the Rakata, touching it could well summon a plague or some other pestilence as its cousins had. There was no way to know and she didn't have Khem for backup.

Zsora took a deep breath, picked up the gem and waited.

The sea of magma churned below, stirring with potential and danger. Spurious flames and bubbles of boiling liquid simmered the surface as Zsora looked down over the edge. She could see Khem and Ferya doing the same on the other side, their senses dulled by the exuberant amount of energy coming from the super-heated mass below.

Zsora pocketed the gem and knelt down to meditate. The threat would reveal itself soon, she needed only wait and while she did, there was power to consolidate. The fires below had greatly warmed her freezing body but the energy she had exhausted to drain the Terentatek had not replenished itself. She needed to recover what was lost and she did so by seething quietly on the dark plateau far above the firey pit.

She thought of the gall Ferya had, manipulating Zsora into doing the work she had been too weak to finish. How much simpler it would have been to bind the apprentice and then use her power to locate the final resting place of her master. A foolish error, borne of kindness, unwelcome in the harsh realities of this world. There was no room for peaceful solutions when everyone was out to get you, use you, kill you and yet she still tried...

_"Peace is a lie, there is only passion."_

Zsora had always lacked the ferocity of her Force-sensitive peers, unable to slaughter and maim and torture as easily as they could but it didn't make her any less powerful. A little gullible perhaps and more than a share reserved about her occupation but she had found a way to channel her frustrations. She coveted the hunt for power, the endless search for secret knowledge in the galaxy, kindled by her Master's fixation on the Sith Lords of old. She blazed the trail with a passion and in the grand scheme of life, her death meant little.

_"Through passion, I gain strength."_

The Force swelled all around her as the darkness within called to replenish its spent reserves. Fear of the unknown sharpened the mind, Rage against the enemy ignited the fire inside and Hatred, glowering, undeniable Hatred tempered the blade. Through strict control, Zsora suppressed what seemed like an infinite pool of darkness growing inward. But what was her greatest weakness, could easily become her greatest strength.

_"Through strength, I gain power."_

Zsora rose to her feet, energy massing in every fibre of her being. She was not one with the Force, she was controlling it. She could feel the multitude of molten rock below, the creatures it concealed, the dark ribbons of Rakatan persuasion willing them to come to the surface. 

One large member of flaming crustacea struck her in particular. Its sheer size was easily half the length of the cave. She closed her eyes and felt for its mind, for its purpose, its name. 

_"Leviathan,"_ she smiled, daring the creature to come at her, to jump.

And it did.

Zsora could trace every abrasive edge of its enourmous black exoskeleton swimming down to the very bottom of the cave and propelling itself back up with enough force to breach the liquid fire. It soared up, rearing its crested carapace of a head high above her. Hundreds of pairs of legs twitched excitedly from their somites, ready to crush their quarry beneath the Leviathan's charred black exoskeleton. But before the creature could even begin its descent, Zsora thrust her hands up in an exceptional show of power, using the Force to drive the creature up into the ceiling.

_"Through power, I gain victory."_

The spiky thorax of the Leviathan caught in the cave's upper crevices, suspending its massive body over the firey pit below. It twitched its disproportionately small legs and screeched, desperately trying to free itself. 

Zsora didn't wait for it to fall. She gathered the Force once again and this time, blanketing the creature from above, she wrenched it down, hard. Taking huge chunks of the ceiling with it, the creature catapulted back down into the depths of the molten magma below, destabilizing the structure of the cave.

_"Through victory, my chains are broken."_

Large hunks of rock began to rain down from the roof of the cave and Zsora needed no further invitation. She leapt from the edge of the plateau, onto a falling boulder and quickly jumped to a subsequent slab of stone, then another and another, darting through the falling debris as if it were a perfectly stable form of purchase. She hopped and ducked and dodged and propelled herself forward through the obstacle course with little thought as to the danger of failure awaiting below. 

Khem and Ferya watched from the other side as Zsora acrobatically manouevred through the deadly storm of stone and gracefully flung herself out at the edge of the cliff. Her fingers caught the plateau and Khem rushed over to help her up. She righted herself and turned to watch the rocky rain cease. 

The Leviathan was angrily circling below them, dodging the final pieces of falling refuse and waiting for its chance to strike again. Zsora felt the heat of the black gem burning through her pocket. It was angry. 

She smiled to herself and walked over to the edge of the precipice, lightning gathering in her fingers. The Leviathan rose out of the firewater slowly this time, crawling up the side of the cliff to pursue its prey. Its hundred legs worked tirelessly to claw up the vertical surface of the crag, pulling itself up towards them.

Zsora looked deep into its dark compound eyes, its mandibles foaming with fury.

 _"A worthy foe,"_ she thought to herself but he could not trap her here. No one could hold her here.

_"The Force shall free me."_

Blinding arcs of blue lightning sparked across the cave, tracing branches of light through the air, down to the monstrous creature below. The blistering tendrils struck hard against its imprenetrable black exoskeleton, sizzling the slimy innards that magma could not penetrate. 

The Leviathan kept crawling. Slowly but surely, it stood against the barage of lightning as thunder began to roar throughout the cavern. It clutched at the cliff with unrelenting strength, its purpose clear. 

Zsora redoubled her efforts, fuelling the electrical discharge with as much Force energy as she had gathered, pressuring it down until finally, she was spent. The blue sparks faded from her fingertips and she fell to her knees in exhaustion, supporting herself with two hands as she looked down at the approaching Leviathan.

But it had stopped moving as well. Zsora could feel the last drop of life extinguish from its great body as the many legs lost their grip and peeled off the side of the cliff. The creature plummetted down into the river of fire and stone, splashing magma as it crashed down into its blistering embrace. The carapace floated briefly, drifting lazily until it sunk to the very bottom.

_"Free..."_


	14. Deceived

"You're certainly more capable than I imagined..." Ferya fussed as she floated forward towards their destination.

"I'm sure you say that to all the people you've sent to their doom," Zsora waved away the back-handed compliment with her helmet. 

She'd taken it off to wolf down a ration bar before they came to the end of their little journey to the centre of the Rakatan ruin. It tasted just as horrible as ever but she couldn't deny the nutritional value; it was printed on the side of the silvery packaging and everything.

Khem seemed to be feeding off her good mood as well, happily striding at her side behind the incorporeal form of Ferya Coltrin. He couldn't see her, of course, but Zsora noticed the wispy trails coming from her back as Khem sucked a little Force energy out of the puerile poltergeist.

"You have no idea what it's like to be surrounded by your inferiors. We must have brought over a thousand slaves with us but every single one went insane within a day of breaching the mountain," Ferya complained.

"You breached the mountain?" Zsora asked, finishing the rest of the ration bar and shoving the flimsiplast wrapper into her pocket. The best thing about having ridiculous robes was the gratuitous amount of hidden pouches. "I thought the Danislans drilled into Mt Foane..."

"Oh, those primitive fools couldn't tell a Rakata from a Gree. Thought they could dig up some rocks and sell them for a pittance but all they found was their doom," Ferya spat. "My master discovered the true entrance on the other side of the mountain which led straight to the main ante-chamber. The Terentateks proved to be excellent excavators but the slaves... absolutely useless," she complained further.

"Wait, how many Terentateks did you bring with you?!" Zsora bristled, unkeen on having to bring down another of the beasts.

"Oh, a fair few but most of them perished in the booby traps. A few ran off into the caves after my master died but I haven't seen them since..." Ferya explained casually.

Zsora gulped audibly and looked over her shoulder to check the shadows for any looming Terentateks but there seemed to be nothing but the foul stench of Rakatan ruin all around. She suddenly felt incredibly unsafe and flicked open her helmet. She brought it up to her face, activating the mechanism she had installed inside to garner her hair out of the front half and felt it pull the long white strands into the back. She clacked it shut and felt the weight of the steel trap which had once protected her ancestor, Kallig. 

It had taken a bit of creative licence to repair the old mask and Zsora couldn't help adding a few improvements which helped circulate the airflow and gather up her wayward hair but its true power came from Kallig's dark energy which still resonated in the centuries old durasteel. It was an eerie but palpable feeling of dread but she felt safer wearing it. She felt protected.

Ferya floated through the endless halls, rambling on about the incompetence of slaves and the injustice of being apprentice to an unworthy master. She seemed to know exactly where she was going and Zsora wondered exactly how long ago Lord Polgax and his pupil had perished in the cavernous ruin. 

They encountered little resistance beyond the occasional sentinel droid which Khem dispatched swiftly with the slice of a blade and it wasn't long before their descent evened out and they walked into a majestic ante-chamber, tiled and decorated with Rakatan carvings and idols. 

Zsora looked up to see the ceiling disappear high into the unbrightened darkness above their heads. The chamber was as large as the chasm of magma they had encountered, spreading far into the distance where an incomprehensible machine made up the far wall. A menagerie of mechanical components erupted from the ceiling and traced their circuitry all the way down to the ground where an ancient golden terminal lay folded and dormant.

"Ah, here we are," Ferya chirped as they approached, "now for the fun part." She clapped her transparent hands together and gestured for them to step up. 

Zsora walked over to the machine and laid a hand on the luminous metal casing of the terminal which recognized her touch and split into three seperate sections blooming open into the control interface. Three large black viewscreens lit up with the light of a hundred different golden letters that Zsora recognized to be Rakatan script. 

The centre of the terminal sputtered and the tiny form of a long-headed alien with two perpendicular eyestalks was projected up in front of them.

"Nemeh filderf namet kappeh," the holo greeted them. Zsora switched on the translator in her earpiece, it wasn't perfect but it was better than trying to decipher the drivel on her own.

"It says 'Hello'," Ferya smiled.

"Yes, I got that..."

"Ne badadres bastiahn danelbee nes vel Kahstee." the holo spoke again but Zsora's translator spat out "This contrivance open Genesis manufacture. In place keystones for the follow."

The centre of the room rumbled as three daises slid out of the ground holding up empty triumvirate claws which beckoned for the gems in Zsora's pocket.

"It wants you to insert the keystones," Ferya chattered excitedly. 

"Dez matzel geh iljoh, maestra meh hill rubaah," the Rakatan recording mumbled but Zsora was even more baffled by the translation.

"'Originate energy transmutation and surpass ecological terminus?" she asked.

"It just wants you to charge the gems with lightning to power the device. You see? Simple," Ferya smiled.

_"She lies...  
the craven lies._

_...do not be deceived... "_ the omnidirectional voice spoke again.

 _"Nice of you to show up,"_ Zsora thought secretly.

She turned to face the first dais and walked briskly into the centre of the room to place the first stone in its slot. The purple gem clicked and lowered itself into the dais, accepted by the machine. Zsora repeated the process for the second dais and watched the green gem slide into its designated position. As she walked over to the third dais, she spotted a pile of bones lying off to the side, stripped of flesh and clothing. A large red circle had been drawn around it in blood and signed with the Sith symbol for _'bind'_.

Zsora hesitated.

"What are you waiting for? There's only one gem remaining," Ferya whined impatiently.

"That corpse..." Zsora said, leaving the circle of gems. "It's bound with Sith blood..." 

She walked over to the bones and leaned down to brush the gory trail away but Ferya wouldn't have it.

"You will not touch that!" she screamed and Force-pulled Zsora back into the circle of daises.

She landed painfully at Ferya's ghostly feet as the apparition splayed a hand over the last gem. Khem rushed at the circle, swinging his blade violently through the air at random, trying to defeat the incorporeal fiend with physical violence but the ghost simply threw him out with a wave of her arm.

"I have enough power for this..." the ghost smiled and the gem rose steadily into the waiting socket of the empty dais. It clicked and accepted the stone.

Zsora rose to her feet, anger bristling in her heart and sparking at her fingers. She blasted Ferya with a long arc of blue lightning which easily passed through her transparent figure and drove into the black gem directly behind. The keystone ignited with sparks of electricity and chained the energy to its peers creating a triangle of light between the daises.

Zsora cut the stream of lightning short but it was too late. The keystones hummed as they converted the dark power into usable energy to drive the vast array of components against the far wall. 

"Kefteh maserbyee de marderub teh," the Rakatan projection spoke from its terminal.

"Yes," Ferya called out and raised her hands once again, this time to lift a set of bones hidden behind the terminal. They levitated one by one into an open cavity in the great machine, swallowed by the newly churning cogs and gears of the mechanism. 

"Taste my bones, rebuild my flesh, make me whole!" she shrieked.

The machine seemed to accept the offering and the Rakatan voice rang out once more. "Redhyeb agilastic, kool eeti zebhyeb," it vocabulated.

Even with her limited understanding of Rakatan, Zsora realized that "Prototype accepted. Inception beginning," was not a good indication of things to come.

Contraptions began to lumber and mill a dark substance somewhere above them near the very roof of the chamber, eviscerating what Zsora could identify as centuries-old flesh.

"Yes, it's working!" Ferya cackled maniacally as the machine processed and refined the biowaste into something far more intricate. Ore was smelted and purified and poured into moulds which produced durasteel bones. Strands of red tissue poured from suspended hoses, weaving into ropes of muscle over the durasteel skeleton. Fleshy sacs of a black fibrous membrane inflated into organs within the abominable structure, joined together by corterising rings of heat. 

"Master?" Khem growled at Zsora who had been paralyzed by the sight of the organic body being constructed before her very eyes. She shook her head.

"Enjoying the show, slave?!" Ferya shouted over the earsplitting noise of the Rakatan machine. "Don't think I didn't see that slave brand when you took off your helmet. You are no Sith! Soon, I shall have a new body and my first act will be to crush you like the vermin you are!"

"I thought you said the machine was for terraforming!" Zsora yelled through the clamor.

"Hahaha! I lied, you fool!" she cackled. "The World Shaper has been lost in space for millenia. This is the Dark Cradle!"

Zsora reached for her lightsabers and remembered they were damaged in the fight with the Terentatek. They would be of no use to her now. She slipped her hands behind her back, into the folds of her belt where she kept the prototype hilts she'd been working on. It wasn't the best situation for an impromptu trial but she had little choice. 

She drew two curved silver hilts from her robes and held them out at arm's reach, hesitant to power them on. Their crossguards elegantly branched over her fingers offering extra protection but did little to assuage her fear that they could blow up in her face.

With the Dark Cradle quickly assembling a living vessel for Ferya's fury, Zsora wasted no time and flicked on the lightsabers which pierced the darkness with a bright white light but without the usual hum. At least the additional silencing exhausts were doing their job.

With her arms still attached, she raced toward the machine at the far end of the chamber and Khem swiftly followed, glad to be able to see his enemy.

But before they could reach their destination, a complete copy of Ferya's body descended through the final levels of the machine, sprayed with a black aerosol that hardened into printed battle armour. Her ghost flew past them and entered the lifeless body, assuming control of the superior form. 

"Alive again..."


	15. The Dark Cradle

"It's too late, slave! The first of my copies is complete!" Ferya snarled. "Soon, I will have an army of Sith at my command!"

She reached out a hand in front of her and a lightsaber quickly rose from the pile of remains she had hidden behind the terminal. It snapped into her hand and she unleashed its furious violet blade with a roar as she leapt into the air.

Zsora crossed her own blades in front of her just as Ferya's lightsaber came crashing down on top of them. It screeched against the white beams, sending sparks flying between them. The eyes of Ferya's new body were completely black and Zsora could see her own reflection in them, Kallig's countenance. She pushed forward heavily and threw her into the path of Khem's oncoming blade but the Sith clone easily dodged the attack with a backflip.

 _"She is confident... but you are stronger."_ came a familiar whisper in her ear.

Zsora pressed the attack, dual blades lashing out against the single red lightsaber in the ante-chamber's din. Ferya met her strikes, blow for blow, parrying and dodging Khem's attempts to keep her off balance. The screech of plasma blades rang out again and again as Zsora advanced in a flurry of unending stabs and ripostes and soon Ferya gave way.

Boxed in by Khem on her right, she mistepped and Zsora was there to plunge a saber straight through her heart. She forced it down, cutting the durasteel bones and armourweave flesh with more difficulty than a regular body but slowly, she cleaved it in two and brought a second saber around to decapitate the clone.

But Ferya's vessel did not even have time to hit the ground before a Rakatan vibrosword was swung at Zsora's face. She blocked in time to engage a second and third clone which Ferya had seemlessly split herself into.

 _"That's why she's not speaking..."_ Zsora thought to herself as she did her best to parry the clones' attacks.

The Rakatan vibroswords lacked the power and finesse of a lightsaber but the quantity made up for the quality as the clones continued the barrage of powerful blows. Zsora found an opening between Ferya's shoulders and managed to cross her sabers through her chest, splitting the body into four pieces. 

Another pair of clones joined the fray and attacked with renewed gusto, pushing Zsora and Khem back one strike at a time. They were strong and agile and well trained and a few of them had used the Force to push and pull this or that blow but none of them showed exceptional skill in either discipline. A clone picked up Ferya's lightsaber and Zsora had to take the offensive to make sure she didn't slice Khem's vibrosword in half. She managed to cut off her leg and then her head before more clones arrived to surround them.

Zsora and Khem were outnumbered three to one, with their odds dwindling quickly as the Dark Cradle spat out more and more clones of Ferya Coltrin. Back to back, they fought deflecting oncoming attacks from the growing number of their opponents. Surrounded on all sides, Zsora lost manoueverability. Her lightsabers needed room to move and parry irrespective of each other and she found herself striking her own blades more than once.

With a pulse of anger, Zsora Force-pushed all four clones in front of her off their feet and scattered the two behind them. She connected both ends of her lightsabers together and twisted, clicking them into place, creating an elegant bend between two pure white blades of light. 

She ran forward with a flourish, spinning the double-bladed staff in impressive arcs of white radiance which drew figure-eights in the darkened chamber. The blades sliced through two of the clones with mirror-like precision, leaving them quartered and oozing dark blood all over the floor.

Twirling the staff with one finger between the grip and the guard, she grinned as the rest of the clones came at her. The Feryas were relentless, striking powerful dual-handed blows which Zsora balanced on the scales of her saberstaff, using momentum to spin it in an entirely different direction almost instantly. The turnabout took two of the clones by surprise and it could be said that they lost their heads in more ways than one.

Zsora did not remain stationary either, she danced and spun as her blades made deadly loops around her, creating an impenetreble defensive shield of light. She pushed forward into the group of clones until she was surrounded.

Suddenly she feigned a high sweep, only to push her right leg forward into a full split and spin the staff full circle, slicing every thigh clean in half. She pulled her leg back to rise gracefully out of the split and slice each head off from its shoulders. They fell with unceremonious thuds as Zsora turned to see Khem struggling against the growing horde.

Though six dead clones lay at his feet, Khem was being overwhelmed by the increasing number of Feryas coming at him.

Zsora twirled the saberstaff around her finger, picking up speed and then doubling down to throw it like a discus. She released the white ring of spinning plasma and watched it arc around the room slicing through half the clones surrounding Khem, only to fly obediently back to her hand. The Force was with her now, this battle was just getting started.

"You seem a little quiet Ferya!" she shouted as more clones came running towards them. Their faces were carved with fury and malice but none of them spoke as they engaged Zsora and Khem.

"What happened to crushing me like the vermin I am?" she jeered, trying to get a rise out of the true apprentice, wherever she was.

The clones seemed identical in every way but her snide comments definitely had an effect. They grew angry and spiteful and their strikes became stronger but much more predictable.

Khem ploughed through several unsuspecting clones approaching Zsora from behind as she boomeranged her saberstaff yet again through the teeming masses, carving a path of dead Feryas through the throng. They were evening the odds.

"What's wrong? Infinite army of Sith not working out for you?" Zsora shouted with glee as she sliced through another riled up clone.

 _"Destroy her dream ... and she will be nothing..."_ Polgax whispered in her ear.

Zsora looked over at the Dark Cradle, steadily churning out more and more clones for them to fight. Polgax was right. It needed to end. She sent out another spinning disc of plasma to clear the space around Khem and shouted "Javelin!". 

He immediately plunged his vibroblade into the ground and stretched out a muscly hand towards her. Zsora caught her staff and disconnected the blades. With two lightsabers trailing behind her, she ran at full speed towards Khem, leaping into his outstretched hand and landing with both feet squat in his huge palm. 

He let out a grunt and thrust his arm up at the machine, propelling Zsora through the air. She stepped off his outstretched hand and Force jumped high into the darkness above. Sabers underhand, she plunged them into the fuselage of the Dark Cradle and slid down as they slowly melted away the ancient steel.

Putrid black sludge escaped a translucent container to her right, feeding the mechanism with the biomass required to string together its clones. The stench was unbearable and Zsora was reluctant to cut into the resceptacle, lest it bathe her in the same black ooze. She hung from the hilt of one lightsaber and threw the other into the darkness, guiding it gently with the Force. It spun, illuminating the dark pool of decay and Zsora could swear she saw an eyeball shift in the murky grey mass.

The blade sliced through the side of the translucent container and flew back to her hand as a waterfall of black rot cascaded down through the inner workings of the machine, spilling into its sensitive components and damaging several clones in construction. 

"It doesn't matter how much you cut away at the Cradle!" shrieked a Ferya from below. "The Rakatan technology is self-repairing, you have only delayed the inevitable!"

Sure enough, sentinal droids and repair probes emerged from darkened doorways and spread around the Dark Cradle's base. The droids dispersed among the clones, readily attacking Khem who was trying to quell the tide on his own. Simultaneously, probes drifted up into the machine's inner workings to repair the damage Zsora had caused. 

_"Less than ideal,"_ she whispered as a rickety Rakatan probe came flying towards her, tiny electroshock pincers zapping at the air.

She sliced it in half with her free blade but dozens more were already drifting up to repair the mess of black ooze. Zsora could see them form up in even zig-zags, travelling with identical speed and smiled as an idea burgeoned in her mind. 

She pulled out the saber still slowly melting away the wall and initated a controlled fall onto one of the probes floating up. Spinning to slice through an adjacent smelting unit, she landed on top of the probe, causing it to bob violently before righting itself and adjusting to the extra weight. 

It didn't have time to react to its new Sith passenger as Zsora backflipped off the little probe and landed on its identical counterpart nearby. A flurry of slashes and stabs brought the first droid and much of the robotic assembly at that height to bear in a shower of sparks as the dessicated parts tumbled down the side of the Cradle.

Zsora leapt onto the next droid, and the next, wreaking just as much havoc and sending more molten machine parts crashing to the ground, crushing the droids and clones below. The probes provided an improvised floating staircase as Zsora descended to the very bottom of the Dark Cradle, leaving irreversible damage in her wake. 

She leapt from the last repair probe to land gracefully on top of the Rakatan control terminal and admired her work from below. Half-formed clones had become jammed inside the wreckage of the Dark Cradle, their black blood spilling over the side of the vast machine in a macabre waterfall of darkness. 

"Your dream is dead!" Zsora cried over the tumult and all the remaining Feryas turned to face her as she plunged her lightsabers down into the golden terminal to complete her wave of destruction.

"NO!" they all roared as the device exploded in blaze of white light.

Zsora leapt over the smoke, connecting both lightsabers together into a dual-blade staff once more and landing near an exhausted Khem who had held the brunt of the attack while she climbed the Cradle. Unleashing a large syringe of golden liquid from her robes, she stabbed him in the side and injected a fortitude stim to reinvigorate her weakened companion.

The Feryas became rabid. Incensed with fury. The twenty or so remaining clones shrieked as they redoubled their attack, pummeling them with Force-strengthened blows. Zsora took up a defensive position, parrying their attacks with both blades, waiting for an opening which soon came. The tempestuous nature of their attack left them open to counters from behind and Zsora led them straight into it. She sliced through several frenzied Feryas and a sentinel droid, opening up the field for a heavy swing from Khem's vicious vibroblade. It bit into the flesh of three different clones and sawed them in half with a laboured buzz.

Zsora broke off from Khem and circled around the crowd, twirling the doubled-blade saberstaff into unsuspecting enemies from behind while they focused on the Dashade. She sliced through seven more clones and scrapped as many droids, leaving a pitiful number of Feryas furiously fighting through their fallen flock. 

As the last Ferya fell, Zsora could feel the europhoria of victory kicking in, followed swiftly by the pain and exhaustion of a hard fought battle. Khem collapsed to one knee, leaning against his blade, huffing and puffing from fatigue. He was spent. Zsora could feel her own laboured breathing fogging through the mask as she let her sword hand drop.

"Hehehe..." came a familiar giggling from behind the terminal as a single clone emerged dressed in the ancient robes that Ferya had worn during her last moments of life. 

"Haaaahaha!" she cackled as she approached the centre of the chamber where the three dark daises stood. "Did you think this was the only machine down here? That the Rakatans would build something so paltry as a factory where warriors were assembled one at a time?"

"What?" Zsora breathed wearily.

"This entire planet is an Incubator, you wretch! Filled with Cradles to create infinite organic armies made from the bodies of the fallen. All I need do is take the keystones to the next Cradle to initiate the process all over again," she croaked.

"Over my dead body," Zsora hissed, moving to stand between the clone and the keystones.

"With pleasure," Ferya smiled wickedly, her beautiful red robes flying as she unleashed the violet blaze of her lightsaber. 

Zsora grabbed the guards of her saberstaff with both hands and clutched it like a spear, pointing at her opponent. 

Ferya threw lightning in a crackling burst of purple electricity which Zsora deflected with the butt of her blade and spun into a sweeping slice. The red robed Sith blocked with her own crimson saber, sending angry sparks flying between them. She was much stronger than her individual clones en masse.

"You seem to have put yourself back together," Zsora sneered through a series of spinning strikes. "I would have sliced you up six times by now if you had any more copies."

"I will relish your death, slave!" Ferya hissed back, throwing a Force push out to unbalance Zsora but she caught the energy and dispersed it. 

They continued in a deadly dance of blades and lightning, occasionally leaping over one another or wielding the Force in a series of invisible attacks. Zsora could feel her energy running out fast, the ache in her arms compounded with each swing of a saberstaff and aggravated by Ferya's strong blows against the white blades. She couldn't keep this up for long and the ancient Sith knew it.

"Must feel good to have a body again after all these years..." she said through gritted teeth, diving under Ferya's wide sweep. "Don't need to relieve yourself, do you?" she joked.

"The only thing I need to relieve myself of is YOU!" she roared and tossed a purple lightning stream at Zsora's face.

She rolled away to dodge it and sent her own blue tendrils coursing at her enemy. They met the purple lightsaber with a loud crack and evaporated as Zsora came charging in with a twirl of her saberstaff. Ferya blocked her and their crossed blades sizzled in a stalemate as they fought to break each other's grasp.

Zsora was drawing on the power of the Force Ghosts now, her own strength fading from wear and fatigue, barely keeping the ancient Sith at bay as they fought. She could see her reflection in the souless black eyes of the clone, so determined to cut her down when suddenly something flashed behind her.

Spurred on by fear, Zsora broke the stalemate and spun backwards as a second Ferya attacked her from behind. Another clone had escaped her notice. Probably left empty until the real Ferya needed it so Zsora would not be able to detect the anomaly in the Force.

They attacked from both sides as Zsora desperately tried to parry their blows at both ends of her saberstaff. Soon, she was back in a defensive stance, spinning the staff to protect her flank which kept moving as the Feryas circling around like vultures. 

She was wearing thin but she noticed the strength of the apprentice had considerably waned since she split herself in two. With incredible patience, Zsora backed away, letting them advance. One of them was bound to make a mistake soon. She just had to wait. Had to focus. Fight.

_Keep fighting._

Then the second clone rushed forward, pulling more than her share of the Force from her twin and charging at Zsora with a terminal blow in mind. But she saw it coming. Zsora switched off her lightsabers and vanished. The gems on her gauntlets cast an illusion which hid her from sight and her power to scatter the Force left no trace of her existence in its ethereal web.

Everything seemed to slow down as she moved through the void. The clone was about to slice through her head but she simply moved out of the way, pushing her weary limbs to breaking point. Zsora split up her saberstaff and pointed one hilt up at the clone and another at the slowly approaching form of the red-robed Ferya. 

And then she let go. 

The illusion vanished and her power returned as she emerged in her new position to switch on both lightsabers simultaneously. The one above her head, cleaved the airborne clone in two as she flew past while the second blade pierced Ferya through the abdomen. 

But the woman wouldn't give up. Her flesh meant little compared to Zsora's death and she brought the blistering violet lightsaber down onto her head, carving through the ancient durasteel mask.

Zsora cried out as the molten metal burned into her skin. Her prosthetic eyelids protected her sight but the drops of liquid durasteel spilled burning tears down her right cheek.

Zsora pulled her head away on instinct but Ferya still managed to slice off a section of the mask, revealing her blistering yellow eye suspended in black schlera. She roared and pulled her lightsaber up through Ferya's abdomen, through her chest and her neck and her face until she could see the corterized black flesh inside.

Finally, the apprentice collapsed.

And so did Zsora.


	16. Mutual Benefits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reeling from the battle of the shattered Dark Cradle, Zsora receives a call from a mysterious stranger...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Zsora is a slave who rose to become a Lord of the Sith with the help of her ancestor Lord Alloycius Kallig. She apprenticed to Darth Zash and is now under the leadership of Darth Thanaton who has already tried to kill her on multiple occasions.  
> Though she is technically an assassin, she uses multiple lightsabers throughout the story. Deal with it B-)  
> This fanfic is written purely for fun and I hope you enjoy it :)

Zsora lay flat on the ground, arms stretched out to welcome the stillness as the Rakatan machinery slowly whirred to a stop. Tiny sparks of residual lightning escaped her fingers and crackled in the darkened chamber. She was exhausted and glad for a moment of peace. 

Eyes closed, she let the Force flow freely through her body, healing the wounds and bruises that would no doubt appear the next day. She could feel Khem stirring not far from where she lay. He had taken the brunt of the punishment from the Rakatan droids and clones and was slowly feeding off the Force which Zsora embodied. 

_"That was a close one,"_ she thought to herself as they lay reeling from the battle.

Zsora could feel the remainder of the machine's power waning, the warm flow of her own power returning and a satisfied smile graced her face for a brief moment before she heard a shrill chirping sound coming from within the folds of her robes.

Groaning with equal parts weariness and irritation, she rolled onto her side, supporting herself with an elbow and dug into her back pocket to search for the offending device. 

Upon retrieval, she rolled onto her back again, examining the holocommunicator's display at arm's length. It continued to beep cheerfully but Zsora did not recognize the holofrequency that was trying to reach her all the way down there.

She let her outstretched hand slowly float to the ground, content to let the unknown call drop but it simply would not relent. After a few minutes, her irritation outweighed her exhaustion and she sat up to answer the communicae. A couple of buttons pressed and a small man appeared in a hazy blue light projected from the small circular device.

Zsora had switched off the holorecorder long ago so that she could be heard but not seen. A useful feature when you looked like you'd lost a bet with a Gen'dai.

"H-Hello? L-Lord Kallig?" the little man asked "Is anyone receiving this?" His face was pale and his gangly limbs shuddered as he rubbed his arms for warmth.

"This is Kallig. I'm receiving your signal. Who are you and what do you want?" Zsora replied, glad her helmet's voice modulator was still working.

"I-I-" the little man stuttered.

"Come on, out with it." Zsora goaded, uninterested in playing games.

"My name is Gavin Troik, I'm with the SIS. A mutual friend asked me to contact y-you..." he managed, sniffling from the cold.

Zsora's eyebrows furrowed. The Strategic Information Service was the Republic's equivalent of Imperial Intelligence. Spies and saboteurs and the occassional assassin, all scrambling to find dirt on the Empire while Intelligence silently plotted against the Republic. All very hush-hush. They might know who she was, of course, but she didn't know them personally. Or did she? Why would the SIS be on Danisla? And why would they contact a Sith?

"You're going to have to be more specific," she said, intentionally vague.

"He said to mention the Chrysanthium... that you w-would know him."

Zsora froze. The Chrysanthium. She remembered infiltrating the magnificent cruise ship alongside a certain Imperial Intelligence Operative codenamed Cipher 9. Had he defected to the Republic? Was he with the SIS now? 

"Oh," she said simply. It was so painfully difficult to keep secrets from Intelligence officers.

"S-so you do know him?" Gavin asked, a little surprised. "I-I can't see you, is everything all right?"

"My communicator is damaged, please continue," she repeated her old addage.

"Our friend said you owe him a favour..." Gavin began delicately.

In truth, Zsora owed him her life but when she offered to repay him, he'd shrugged it off the way most Imperials do in the line of duty. It seemed that now he was cashing it in. 

The clever Chiss was always ten steps ahead, always scheming, always in control, no matter how desperate the situation. She wondered what kind of trouble he had found, spying on the enemy. Or with the enemy.

"I'm listening," she said, curious as to the part she was to play in his schemes.

"We are currently undercover with the Danislan Resistance movement, tracking a Republic war criminal who hid on Danisla prior to the Treaty of Coruscant," Gavin said hastily, the cold lending him speed. "We've managed to narrow his location down to a single encampment but the sheer volume of refugees means we need time to catalogue and profile them all."

"You're very trusting to tell me this..." Zsora remarked suspiciously.

"Our friend says he trusts you," Gavin sniffed. "You let Erik go, right? Let him go home to his family?"

Zsora wasn't sure what to say. Trust had never come easily and this situation called for a lot more of it than she was capable of but a twinge of compassion betrayed her otherwise indifferent persona.

"Is he alright?" she asked, worried about the poor man she'd scared half to death. His insides had been mangled by the Fixers. They implanted him with something, she could tell, and Zsora wasn't sure he'd make the journey. 

"Yeah, he'll be fine," Gavin replied, visibly reassured by her reaction.

"Listen, despite our best efforts, the location of our base has been compromised. A Sith Lord named Freasch captured one of our agents and...well..." Gavin paused, shaking his head "Suffice it to say, he knows where we are and how many of us there are. He's planning a massive attack on the base as we speak." 

"Let me guess. You want me to distract him with kind words and peace treaties?"

"We'd like you to kill him, preferably. Our mutual friend tells me you're very good at that," Gavin replied frankly, wiping his nose.

"Do you have a location?" 

"What, really? You'll do it?"

"How am I supposed to kill him if you won't tell me where he is?"

"I'm sending co-ordinates to your holocom now but you need to act quickly, he'll be there soon. There are so many lives on the line, please, you have to-" Gavin was cut off. 

The butt of a rifle slammed into his head and he crumpled to the ground as an Imperial trooper walked into the holo to disconnect it. Zsora watched the little blue light fade away as the transmission ended. 

Gavin would be taken back to Caralis, interrogated, drugged, implanted and set loose, just like Erik. He had risked his life to her bring that message, but what she did now would risk a lot more. 

Luckily, the SIS would have erasing algorithms programmed into his holocom to prevent information leaks. She would be safe from detection by the Empire for now and as long as Gavin didn't mention her while they tortured him, she had room to move. She had time to kill.

Zsora stood up slowly, stretching the ache from her limbs as Khem groaned nearby. 

"We have a new target?" 

"Yes," she said, eyes gleaming yellow beneath her shattered mask. "Time to kill a Sith Lord."

"Another? There will soon be none left..." he grumbled, trying to stand.

"If only..." she whispered, examining the co-ordinates on a holo-map. "Hmmm. We're not far away but I'm not sure we can get through here." She pointed to a holo-map.

_"there is a way..._

_I can show you..._

_free me..."_ the voice whispered again.

Zsora turned to look at the pile of bones not far from where she was standing. The bloody seal had been undisturbed in the battle, probably by the good grace of the tall pillar in front of it. She wearily walked over to the macabre circle and examined the bones.

" _...release me..._ " he whispered.

"I think I've had quite enough from your apprentice..." Zsora sighed. "Why should I make my life more difficult?"

_"you seek power, knowledge..._

_...I seek freedom..._

_...an exchange..."_

"Mhmm, because the last one went so well." Zsora bristled, irritation and anger rising at the insinuation. But he was right. She had come to Danisla to bind the ghost of an ancient Sith Lord and leaving now would mean it had all been for nothing. Ferya had been a grand distraction but her true purpose was within her grasp and she wasn't about to let petty grievances stop her.

Zsora knelt down by the sigil binding the bones and raised a hand to the missing piece of her mask. A small strand of white hair had escaped its confines and blood was dripping down her eyebrow from a cut on her hairline. She dabbed her thumb against the red trail and pressed it down into the ground where the sigil glowed red, activating after centuries of slumber.

Suddenly, the circle lit up with flames and the dried blood evaporated in a cloud of black smoke. From the remains rose the ghostly form of a stoutly Sith Pureblood garbed in black and crimson robes of status. Golden rings adorned his facial tendrils and pierced his bright red skin. Black of hair and red of eye, he towered over Zsora, a true Lord of the Sith.

"I'm glad you are the reasonable sort, young one. I am Lord Verthin Polgax," he smiled at Zsora, eyeing her curiously. The cut in her mask revealed little more than her right eye and a few wayward strands of white hair but it was enough. He knew she wasn't Sith, wasn't Pureblood but that didn't seem to perturb him.

He looked around at the many dead bodies of his old apprentice and grinned widely.

"You've done me quite the kindess, murdering my hateful apprentice a hundred times over." His eyes glistened madly. "But nothing could compare to the blissful symphony of her dreams shattering as you sliced open that last one." He chuckled and held out a hand towards it.

The lightsaber Ferya had used in the her final battle lifted gently off the ground and floated towards him.

"She took many things from me. Including my lightsaber, and my life," he examined the red-gold hilt with interest.

"Here, it is yours now. I have no need of such things any longer." He offered it to Zsora who accepted the gift with a bow of the head. 

"I thank you, Lord Polgax, but it is not your apprentice nor the Rakatan construct that brought me here..." Zsora began, clipping the lightsaber to her belt.

"No. I sense the power within you," he said, eyes glistening. "There are few who can resist the maddening call of the darkness, and fewer still who can commune with the spirits left in its wake. You are a Force-walker, aren't you?"

"My Lord is wise," Zsora said humbly, trying to butter him so he would come quietly. "I would bind you. Join me freely and I offer you the chance to leave this place, see the world through my eyes, in exchange for your power when I should need it." She spoke sincerely as she gathered the darkness within to perform the ritual.

"Haha, and if I resist?" he chuckled.

But Zsora did not reply. The purple hue of the Force-walking ritual emanated from her eyes and spread to every part of her body as she sought to incorporate the spirit of Lord Polgax into her own being. He didn't fight it.

She summoned the Force to her will and let the purple hue cover them both, extracting the power within the spirit piece by piece and absorbing it into her own body until nothing remained of the apparition named Polgax.

With the binding complete, she let the dark power withdraw and felt the tension dissipate as she fell to her knees. 

It never got any easier.

"You got what you came for, little Sith," Khem said behind her back.

"Yes," she said. "Now we have a Sith to kill. Though I have little idea how we're going to get through to him..." 

_"I will show you..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking a break from this fanfic for a bit. There's a new OC I want to write a short story about before continuing here because he's a bit complicated.  
> Be sure to have a read :)  
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/7443604/chapters/16911520


	17. Coming to Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rebel cell approaches Caralis City.

Jaeden Vae'lo and the small band of rebels marched through the wide caverns beneath Danislan earth, steadily making their way towards Caralis City. They weaved and wound their way around the labyrinthine tunnels, most of which had been collapsed in the wake of the bombing, carefully consulting the map Lieutenant Mada had provided them. 

Vae'lo was feeling incredibly tense, as he always did in the tunnels. It was dark down here, in more ways than one and his senses instinctively spread over the earthy remains of what were once underground streets and highways. Danislans spent half their year underground, unable to withstand the constant downpour from above. It was the only reason so many of them had survived the attack but also the reason so many of them were dead. 

They passed a collapsed entrance to an adjacent tunnel and Jaeden could see the remains of a man trapped in the debris. He shuddered, feeling the echoes of death and darkness permeating the world around him and suddenly the light inside felt so incredibly small and easily snuffed out if he wasn't careful.

 _"There is no emotion, there is peace,"_ he whispered to himself. The mantra of the Jedi Code always helped calm him, center him.

 _"There is no ignorance, there is knowledge,"_ he repeated, consulting the map for the right direction and pointed it out to the Resistance cell.

 _"There is no passion, there is serenity,"_ he breathed as they passed another cave-in and he saw several children's hands; bones poking out just shy of the rubble.

 _"There is no chaos, there is harmony,"_ Jaeden murmured as the passage widened and the ceiling grew. 

They walked out into a wide open space which the map labelled as the Western Square. Tattered buildings were carved into the cave wall and the floors were littered with debris and bones. A tall staircase at the far end led up to the surface in zigzagging flights. The entrance to Caralis City.

Before occupation, the Western Square had been a bustling hub of communal trade but according to the map it was now the only entrance to the City that wasn't completely caved in or destroyed. Unbeknownst to the Imperials, of course. 

The Sith and their subordinates didn't know the tunnels like the natives did. They didn't have Lieutenant Mada and his scouts to remap the area, marking all of the blockages and openings. And they certainly didn't recognise the false cave-ins which the Resistance had created to camouflage the passageways which lead all the way back to the Sanctuary.

It was dark down here. Truly dark. And even the light from their torches could only illuminate a few metres ahead.

Jaeden blindly stepped out into the Square. 

He pulled out the modest steel hilt of his lightsaber and ignited the blazing blue blade to light up the space. With an outstretched hand, he lifted it high into the air and then let go of the hilt which remained floating in place. It rose up and turned downward becoming a brilliant blue lamp that lit up the Western Square from above, hooking onto a broken light fixture overhead.

A few creatures scuttled away from the light and the rebel cell spilled out into the area to examine their surroundings.

"Hunager, Polso, check the perimeter. The rest of you start setting up," the Krag commanded. His voice echoed through the cavernous plaza. 

"Master Jedi, you pickin' up anything?" he said less loudly.

Jaeden let his senses meld with the Force. The delicate weave of energies that unified all living things, even here. But he could feel no disturbances. No kinks or oddities to be found around them. The energies of fifteen brave men pulsed through the square but there was little more except darkness and debris. It filled the hollow empty space, suffocating and black.

"No," he said. "Feels quiet."

"Alright, boys, what do we got?" the Krag asked the returning soldiers.

"All clear, Captain," Polso nodded. "Found a Rotink in one of the old waste bins but it shouldn't give us any trouble."

"A Rotink?" Corporal Derris smirked. "Shouldn't we get rid of it?"

"It'll take too long." Vae'lo shook his head. 

"Nobody let off any gas, is that understood?" the Krag commanded. "That means you, Lorans."

The soldiers chuckled and Lorans made a sulky face. 

"It was one time..." he moaned.

"Yeah, one's enough." The Krag frowned. " _'Specially_ if there's a Rotink down here."

He turned to Polso. "Mark off the bin where it's sleepin'."

"Yessir." He dashed away.

The two techs finished setting up a sensor array in the centre of the Square, returned and nodded to the Krag.

"Everything's set up, Captain," Private Groave relayed.

"We should be getting a read any minute now," Torin murmured into his datapad.

"Alright, let's take a break while we wait. Everyone get some rest. We need to be fighting fit when we go in."

The Krag nodded and the little group disbanded around the sensor array, each finding a comfortable place to sit, lay down or dump their equipment.

"Master Jedi," the Captain said much more quietly, "can I talk to you for a moment?"

"Of course, Captain Kraglus." He nodded.

They walked off toward the edge of the Square, leaving the others to rest after the long trek into Caralis. Jaeden hadn't felt the weariness the others were experiencing as they plastered themselves over the cracked tiled floor, leaning on packs for comfort.

Within Jaeden, the Force dwelled always and it took a lot more than a lengthy stroll to fatigue him but he could feel the Captain's exhaustion as they walked side by side. It radiated from him in waves and as soon as his back was turned to his men, he let out a long sigh.

"Are you alright, Captain?" 

"Hmmm? Yeah," he grumbled. "Just not as young as I used to be..."

"Well, perhaps you should rest with the others, I'm sure they'd appreciate your company."

"I need to talk to you before we go into the city," the Krag said sternly. "There's a few things you should know."

Jaeden furrowed his brow, anticipating bad news.

"What is it?" he asked cautiously.

"I don't think we're all coming back from this one," the Krag said seriously.

"The chances for success on this mission are slim, Captain. Your men knew that when they set out."

"Yeah, but my men know when to abandon a lost cause..." 

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about Praye," Delwitt said dryly. "I'm talking about how we had to drag you away when Sebron told you to go."

Jaeden frowned. He'd stubbornly refused to leave with the Danislans when the Sith attacked Praye. He wanted nothing more than to stay by his master's side and face the darkness together but the elder Jedi refused. He told Jaeden to flee but the young padawan put up quite a fight. The Krag had to literally drag him away and only after Sebron sent him reeling with a massive Force push.

"I'm sorry," Jaeden said, regrettably. "You saved my life."

"Hollis Sebron saved your life, kid," the Krag reassured him with a hand on his shoulder. "And I'm asking you not to waste it."

"I understand," Vae'lo nodded. "What is it you wanted to tell me?"

The captain threw a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the men couldn't hear them and turned back to whisper in hushed tones.

"I haven't told the others about this but I've been inside the capital since the Imperials took over," he admitted quietly.

"You have?"

The Krag nodded grimly.

"It was back when Commander Hakes was still alive. I escorted Nordren and his team so they could survey the tunnels. We broke into the National Archive building from below. That's when he found the data on the Sanctuaries."

"So?" Jaeden frowned, trying to understand how all of this tied into their mission.

"So, the National Archives are in the Inner Ring of the Eastern Quadrant."

"This is the Western Square," Jaeden noted. "You said the other entrances were unusable."

"They are," the Krag said. "Except the Eastern Entrance isn't technically blocked like it says on the map."

"Are you saying Mada forged it?"

"I'm saying he marked it unusable for a reason."

"Which _is?"_

The Krag sighed again.

"The Imperials have traitors in their ranks."

"What?"

"A few of them set up a smuggling ring when they came to Danisla," Delwitt explained. "The Governor's in on it too. He requisitions luxury goods, weapons, vehicles and embezzles whatever he can find. Smuggles it offworld through the eastern highway to an abandoned spaceport."

"I thought we were here to steal food?"

"We are. It's just-" the Krag paused. "Look, there's another entrance to the underground tunnels, there's several exits. If you're careful, you should be able to make it through undetected."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because I need you," Delwitt persisted. "The Resistance needs you. And if things get ugly, I want you to go. Take all the rations you can and get back to the Sanctuary without us. You're the only one capable of doing that alone."

"That's not true," Jaeden said. "We can all make it back together."

The Krag shook his head.

"I used to believe that," he said bitterly. "I used to think we were too smart for the Imperials. That we'd always win, no matter what."

He rubbed the back of his neck with a tired hand.

"But that was before Commander Hakes died. Before I realized that we aren't going to beat them just because we're in the right," he frowned. A dark shadow loomed over him and Vae'lo could feel the despair.

"You can't give up, Captain," Jaeden told him. "If there's even the slightest chance of success then there is hope. You can't give up."

"I'm not giving up yet," the Krag growled. "But I'm ready to lose if things go badly. I just want to make sure that you are too."

"We're not going to lose," Jaeden persisted. "We can't let those we have lost die in vain."

"Danisla's freedom is worth dying for, Master Jedi," he said. "But we might just die anyway without ever getting it back."

"Sir!" One of the techs came rushing over with a datapad.

"What is it, Torin?" the Krag asked.

"The sensor array is operational, we've got the first readings from the surface."

"And?"

"Routine guard, two man teams, asymmetric patrols."

"Get me the time between rotations."

"Averaging sixteen minutes, sir," Torin said, tapping at his datapad. "Imps are keeping it tight."

"Alright, gather the men. Time for a mission brief."

"Yessir." He ran off to tell them.

"What's that you say about the Force, Master Jedi?" The Krag straightened up to his full height, towering over Jaeden.

"May the Force be with us."


	18. The Plan

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rebels attempt to steal rations for the desperate Danislans of the Sanctuary

Scattered clouds loomed over Caralis that night to paint the sky a murky grey. Three men slipped out through a shadow in the outskirts of town just as the forward western patrol turned a corner and marched out of sight. 

They had several minutes to make the first checkpoint before the next patrol came in to replace it. So they hurried, staying low and disappearing behind a crumbling building before two uniformed Imperial soldiers came leisurely strolling around the corner. 

"Excuse me," a calm voice spoke to them from behind.

The two soldiers wheeled about, weapons drawn, pointing at the Jedi who faced them with an outstretched hand.

"You will put down your weapons and take off your uniforms," he said coolly.

The soldiers looked to complain but the Jedi worried the air with a hand and let it guide their thoughts. Soon, the disgruntled Imperials were far more accepting of his request and dropped their weapons. 

Two Danislan Guards quickly emerged from the shadows to take their rifles and once the Imperials had finished stripping, they each received a buttful of blaster to the back of the head.

The rebels quickly disguised themselves and Jaeden tapped the wristlink in his sleeve. 

"This is Blue Leader. Hostiles successfully neutralized. Blue team moving toward second checkpoint," he whispered in hushed tones.

"Copy that, Blue Leader. Red team is moving into position."

Hunager and Polso dragged the unconscious bodies of the Imperials into a ruined building and pulled out a pair of binders to lock around Jaeden's wrists. They straightened up and walked out of the shadows towards the second checkpoint and arrived just in time to greet the next patrol.

"Hey! What's going on here?" One of the Imperial soldiers waved his rifle at them.

"We caught this Jedi snooping around the gate," Hunager told him without delay. He'd been practising all night.

"A Jedi, huh?" the suspicious soldier narrowed his eyes as he examined Vae'lo. "How did you idiots manage to catch a Jedi?"

Jaeden lifted a hand and waved it in front of the soldier's face.

"You will command these men to release me," he said plainly.

"Seriously?" the soldier smirked.

"He's not a very good Jedi, sir."

"No kidding."

"We were going to take him back to the Citadel for the Sith to deal with." Polso nodded.

"Right. Well, don't just stand there."

"Yes, sir," the disguised rebels nodded and prodded Vae'lo forward.

Two more rifles appeared from the shadows and promptly smashed into the heads of the unsuspecting Imperials to knock them unconscious. Derris and Lorans swiftly debriefed them and outfit themselves with far better equipment as Jaeden took to his wristlink again.

"This is Blue Leader. Second patrol neutralized. Route Aurek is clear."

"We hear you, Blue Leader. You have thirty minutes to make the next checkpoint. Red team is already on the move. Good luck."

"May the Force be with us."

"Karthnaklos nama reishna," Torin replied readily and switched off the com.

Jaeden turned and found the rebels looking at him expectantly so he repeated Torin's words and found their expressions emboldened by their meaning. 

"Let's go."

The five of them set off in a diamond formation with the Jedi prisoner in the center, taking a pre-memorized route of detours and quiet alleys to avoid detection where possible. They ran into a small group of off-duty officers heading back into the city center but none of them were very keen to stick their necks for the Jedi. So they parted ways and continued on.

The third checkpoint was a large gate through the wall surrounding the Mid Ring of Caralis City. According to Erik's intel there was supposed to be a fresh squad of Imperial soldiers guarding this side as opposed to the Eastern Gate's platoon of seasoned troopers. 

Blue team stopped just shy of the open square and took shelter in the rubble of a small dwelling nearby. Derris pulled out a satchel and opened it for the others to reach inside. Each man pulled out a mask from the Sanctuary's biohazard safety kit and attached it to his face. 

Jaeden checked his chrono. 

Twenty eight minutes had passed. Two more to go. 

He showed the tiny screen to the rest of Blue Team and they all began mentally counting down, waiting for Red Team to make their move. 

And with two seconds to spare, a tall power conduit several blocks away snapped at the foot of its stalk and fell like a tree onto a nearby building, sparking a fire that could be seen as far as the Mid Ring Gate. Power to the area was disrupted and smoke began to fill the air as Imperial soldiers rushed toward the source of the blaze, failing to notice the rebel warriors sneaking past them. 

The smoke did not impede their progress and when they emerged from the dark cloud on the other side, none were the wiser.

"This is Blue Leader. We are past the third checkpoint," Jaeden whispered into his wristlink, pulling off the mask.

"Copy that, Blue Leader."

"Status on Red Team?" Jaeden asked.

"Borough sustained a small injury but the rest of them are fine. They'll follow you in once they see an opening."

"Got it. Heading to the next checkpoint."

"Scanners showing turrets in the area. Be careful, Blue Leader."

"We will. Blue team out."

They continued to take detours through the Mid Ring, sirens blaring as fire and hazard containment units rushed towards the flames billowing in the distance. 

Jaeden breathed deeply, letting the Force flow through him, with him, around him, searching for any thought of intruders in the Imperial ranks but the fire preoccupied their thoughts. Though it seemed to be somewhat routine for them. No doubt the bombardment of the city had left more than a fair share of unhealable scars in its wake and the Imperials were forced to deal with them every day. 

This was no different.

Jaeden wondered how Nordren could predict their actions so precisely. Erik had given them a detailed account of the guards he'd seen but there was no way Mada could anticipate their movements and reactions with such accuracy from a passing lookout. Was there?

The plan had gone off without a hitch so far but that could all change in the blink of an eye and Jaeden kept his head down to concentrate on the task at hand. They made their way toward the fourth checkpoint and quickly ducked into an abandoned building with its transparisteel storefront missing.

A large contingent of turrets had been set up outside the Imperial settlement of Caralis as an extra precaution for the residents inside. They were positioned every fifteen metres along the perimeter just as the map Mada had given them indicated.

"Here you go, sir," Derris said, holding out a bag.

Jaeden took the small satchel and peered inside. It was filled with spherical orbs that were stamped with the Sanctuary's logo. The symbol had been scratched out so it couldn't be identified but he recognized the vague shape of a tree branch on hexagonal frame. 

According to Mada, the orbs were supposed to simulate life signs and energy signatures, useful for assimilating hatchlings to a laboratory environment, or fooling a turret into firing on it by mistake.

He tapped the singular button on top and the orb grew warm in his hand. Jaeden gently pressed into the Force, lifting it up off his palm.

"I hope this works," he said.

"The Lieutenant knows what he's doing," Polso nodded.

"Yeah, that man can pull a Rancor out of a hat," Hunager agreed.

"Alright." 

Jaeden stretched out his hand and concentrated on the orb, guiding it through the air as it floated through the alley and out into the street.

The turrets remained sedentary, their hydraulics quiet. So Jaeden floated the orb a little closer. And then closer still. 

Suddenly the distant scanner blipped in his ears and a turret snapped up to lock on to the orb. Without warning, it fired a blaze of red bolts, obliterating the orb and the remains of the building behind it. 

Blue Team huddled behind cover, hidden by the roofless storefront, waiting for the turret to exhaust itself. They worried for a minute or two but then the sound of blasterfire ceased. They heard the animatronic whir of the turret returning it to its standby position and Hunager took his cue.

"Hey, what's going on over there?!" he yelled, impersonating an Imperial officer. "Who taught you how to calibrate a turret?"

He stuck his cap out and waved it like a white flag.

"State your name and rank," rang a stern voice over a speaker.

"Corporal Jefrae Voalam, sixth infantry," he read off the datapad Derris was showing him.

"Aren't you supposed to be guarding the perimeter in the Outer Ring?"

Hunager hesitated. He didn't know what to say. This wasn't going according to rehearsal so Derris pointed at Jaeden and mimed a lightsaber swish.

"We caught a Jedi!" Hunager called out, inspired. "He messed up a power conduit and set the Outer Ring on fire."

"Is that right?" the Imperial said with obvious disbelief. "Where is he then?"

Hunager winced and shrugged desperately.

Lorans covered his face with a hand but Derris imitated a turret with his fingers as guns.

"Your turrets almost blasted him to pieces, sir!"

"Good riddance, I say," the Imperial scoffed, unmoved.

Hunager looked at Derris again and the man sighed.

Then he mimed shocking someone with Force Lightning.

"The Sith will want him for questioning," Hunager called out. 

"The Sith will want to kill him." The officer mulled it over. _"Personally."_

They heard a bored sigh.

"Alright, I have to recalibrate these turrets now anyway. Hurry up."

There was movement and bustling across the way and then they heard the turrets powering down.

"Come on, we don't have all day."

Blue Team marched out with their straightest backs except for Vae'lo, who slumped between them like a despairing prisoner. They were greeted by a standing army of deactivated turrets and two squads of troopers pointing their rifles right at them.

But the rebels didn't flinch. The Krag had selected his best men for this job. It wasn't their first time executing Mada's unorthodox schemes either and after two years of sneaking and stealing and fighting dirty, they made for a very passable squad of Imperial soldiers.

They marched past the turrets and the troopers, lowering caps over faces, straight up to the commanding officer.

"We're taking him to the Citadel," Hunager announced. "Sir."

The Officer gave him a cursory glance and turned his attention towards the Jedi. Jaeden slumped down and pretended to be beleaguered by exhaustion and pain. 

"Well, not so tough in real life, _are you?"_ he spat, grabbing his face.

Jaeden grimaced and writhed in his grip but the Imperial Captain stared him down with steely grey eyes twinkling over his moustache. 

"Too bad the turrets didn't get you," he snarled. "You're gonna wish they had."

Jaeden sneered but said nothing, trying not to look intimidating.

"Take him away."

"Yes, sir," Hunager saluted and marched forward.

They walked through the perimeter guard and Jaeden noticed a generator in the corner of his eye. He concentrated on seeing the inside, the interconnecting mechanism, laid bare through the Force and with a subtle twist of the hand, he disconnected a cable that seemed most important.

They kept walking, their observers oblivious, but when the Imperials tried to switch the generator back on to calibrate the turrets...

_BZZZZT_

"Blast! What is it now?" the Officer grumbled. 

"Something's wrong with the generator, sir."

"Well, _fix it._ We're wide open."

The disgruntled tech began running diagnostics while the Captain chewed him out. 

Blue Team kept moving, making their way through the settlement and its new developments. Some were restored buildings, others built on top of ruins but all of them housing Imperial citizens in a quantity Jaeden found surprising.

He looked into the windows of their homes as he passed, seeing Imperials for the first time, not as enemies, but as citizens. Merchants and shopkeepers, students and teachers, mechanics, barmen... people. Just, people.

But then Jaeden remembered what dwelled inside the fortess-like Citadel in the centre of Caralis. He could see the tall white pyramid in the distance where the Sith had taken up residence to terrorize the populace. Their idea of mercy was genocide. Their ideal entertainment - torture. And their life philosophy was one of power for the strong, extinction for the weak. Power which they abused, using the Force to wage an endless war on the innocent and it burned him up on the inside. 

Anger was not the Jedi way and yet Jaeden found himself angry more and more often now. Master Sebron had warned his Padawan repeatedly that he must learn to control his emotions by instead focusing on actions that served the will of the Force and right now, there were thirty thousand starving Danislans that were counting on him. So he swallowed the anger and forced himself to breath.

They made it through the Inner Ring without attracting too much attention, its many citizens asleep or turning in for the night. Polso had patrolled the district before and with their map, he led them to the fifth checkpoint just outside the Gate to the Capital District. Here was where the plan got tricky. According to Mada, there would be a Sith Sentinel on guard here and Jaeden would have to distract him or draw him into battle so the others could proceed.

He thought long and hard about what he wanted to say and settled on a retelling of the Jedi Code so as to avoid using unecessary expletives. But when they peeked out from behind the wall, there was no Sith to be seen. 

Jaeden concentrated on feeling a presence through the Force but there was none, not for a klik or so.

"There's no Sentinel," he said to Blue Team.

"Are you sure?" Polso asked.

"I'm sure."

But the rebels weren't convinced.

"They probably just want us to think there's no one there and then BAM! Freaky lightning." Hunager wriggled his fingers menacingly.

"There are definitely no Force users in the area," Jaeden continued. "We should press on while we have the chance."

"You think it's that easy?" Lorans shook his head. "There's still plenty of guards and holocams."

"And turrets."

"Let me contact Torin." Jaeden tapped the wristlink in his sleeve and brought it up to his face. "Blue Leader to base. We have reached the fifth checkpoint."

There was an eerie silence for a few moments and then the soft static broke.

"I read you, Blue Leader. Are you and Blue Team seperating?"

"No, there's no Sith at the Gate."

"What? But Mada said-" there was an incoherrent scratch of static.

"There's just a handful of guards. We can take them but we need you to cut the holocams so we don't raise an alarm."

"I can't do that remotely. I need direct access to a terminal or the right security codes to bypass it."

"The highest we've got is a corporal." Jaeden looked at the rank plaque on Hunager's chest.

"No, you'd need at least a Captain's code cylinder for what you're asking. Or I'd have to leave point zero."

"No, stay put," Jaeden told him. "I can take these guys."

"They'll send more."

"By the time reinforcements get here, we'll be at the cache and waiting for Red Team. I'll take out the holocams so they can't track us."

"I don't like this. Lieutenant Mada's plans are usually pretty solid."

"Do you trust him, Torin?"

"Yes, of course."

"Then trust me too," Jaeden said.

"Alright..."

"What's the status on Red Team?"

"They're approaching the fourth checkpoint. They've gone silent. I should hear back in a few minutes."

"Hmm," Jaeden wondered.

"Is everything alright? You're breaking up."

"It's nothing."

"We'll probably lose contact once you go in, I'll be waiting to hear from you in exactly two hours."

"Alright, see you on the other side, Torin."

"Good luck." The com fizzled out.

"You heard that, change of plans." Jaeden turned to the others. "We're going in together."

"What?" Lorans sputtered. "But Lieutenant Mada said."

"Lieutenant Mada isn't here. I am. And so is Captain Kraglus. He's counting on us to get those supplies ready for them to transport. We have to keep moving forward."

"But the Lieutenant said they would be checking IDs when we got to the Inner Ring. We need a distraction."

"Yeah, and we can't exactly fight a Sith..."

"There's no Sith," Jaeden assured them, feeling his temper leaking through. "I'll go first to make sure the coast is clear. Just pretend I escaped your custody for a moment and run up when I give the signal."

"Yes, sir..." Hunager grumbled.

"Fine." Polso nodded

"You're the boss."

Having gathered their reluctant approval, Jaeden peeked out from behind the wall. He could see the gate to the Capital District. It was in far better condition than the others, having been protected by an energy field unlike the other districts.

There were the turrets again. Not as many as the Inner Ring Gate but enough to give any rebels pause. Luckily, Jaeden wasn't just any rebel. He unclipped the lightsaber from his belt and felt the weight of the steel in his hand. With every breath, he let himself be taken away, melding with the Force, merging, until he felt it guiding him.

Then he jumped out of cover and ran. 

The turrets reacted a moment too late and without his lightsaber ignited, their scanners could not pick up the threat until he was close enough to slice the first one to pieces. The Force carried Jaeden up from the melting durasteel of the dismantled turret and into the air, guiding his hand as he reflected the bright red bolts flying at him into Imperial forces.

He landed on the next turret and sliced off the barrels, spinning around to plunge his blade into the gun house with an underhanded grip. The blue plasma sword cut through the durasteel like butter and destroyed the inner mechanism without delay. Jaeden quickly pulled the saber out and leapt back from the unstable turret as it lit up in a fiery explosion.

It took out the adjacent turrets and provided the Jedi with an excellent opportunity to run through the open Gate. 

No sooner had the tails of his short robe cleared the opening than a large red plasma barrier lit up behind him, barring passage to the rebels outside. It worried him for a moment, but then he let go of those worries, the thoughts and feelings dissipating as he once again melded with the Force all around.

The Imperials inside the Gate circled him, weapons drawn. Thirty soldiers, six grenadiers and a large security droid waited all of two seconds to open fire. 

Jaeden didn't wait.

He lashed out at the man closest to him, deflecting his shots into another and cutting off his hands. A spin and a roundhouse kick sent a third flying. The fourth parried his blows with a vibroblade but swiftly found himself disarmed. 

Jaeden worked quickly through the crowd, deflecting more and more blaster bolts until he was close enough to take the security droid's leg. The Jedi swiftly sliced two more off and jumped onto its back as it sprayed energy bolts every which way, trying to regain its balance. The Imperials fired at him, with little success, destroying the droid's chassis and forcing it to the ground.

He leapt from the scrapheap and flipped in midair while they continued to perforate it with continuous blasterfire. 

The Force was still guiding his movement and six more hands hit the floor, followed by another three unconscious bodies. The brilliant blue saber moved rapidly, leaving arcs of light in the air and carving skillfully through the Imperials who desperately struggled to take aim at the moving target.

Soon, only the assault cannons were left, grasped in the hands of soldiers too afraid to stop firing. Jaeden picked up a piece of the broken droid and held it up to quell the neverending stream of blasterfire. They hammered at the improvised shield and at the Force protecting him, but step by laboured step, he edged closer, and closer, keeping all the attention on himself as he tossed the lightsaber into a spin.

The blade of plasma flew through the air and arced to slice through every single gun barrel. The barrage of bolts abruptly stopped and Jaeden lowered his shield to catch the lightsaber with his free hand. 

Undeterred, the Imperials dropped their cannons and pulled out their blasters. All except one man, who turned tail and ran, conveniently tripping as Jaeden used the Force to pull on one of his boots.

He dropped the shield and held out his hand, closing his eyes, melding once again with the universal flow of energy all around, delving deeper into obscurity as he touched the minds of the remaining soldiers. 

There was anger there. Fortitude, loyalty and fear of failure but also regret and a yearning to live that Jaeden couldn't ignore no matter how hard he tried.

"Put down your weapons," he said, sheathing the light in his saber. The brilliant blade disappeared into its hilt, leaving only the dark overcast sky to light the darkness of the world.

Reluctantly but unanimously, the Jedi felt his words accepted and the sound of blasters hitting the ground filled his ears. He could see them surrender before he opened his eyes. 

The soldiers were no longer his enemies.

"Open the gate," he nudged at the Force again.

The soldiers nodded and walked over to work the mechanism, disabling the shield which detained the rebels outside.

"Deactivate the holocams," Jaeden commanded with a strong tug at the Force. Sure. Unyielding.

The Imperials obeyed and soon every cam in the courtyard drooped from its bracket, allowing the reluctant rebels to pass through the Gate unseen. 

Hunager went first, leading the others towards the beckoning Jedi. Polso and Lorans followed. Derris picking up the rear.

"You did it."

"Yes. This is the last checkpoint before the supply depot," Jaeden nodded.

"I guess we're in the clear," Polso said reluctantly.

"What about these guys?" Derris asked pointing his rifle at the Imperials, just in case.

Jaeden took another deep breath and turned to persuade them through the Force once more.

"We were never here. Your colleagues are at their stations. Nothing is amiss."

The six remaining soldiers nodded and agreed. They mumbled something about getting back to work and drifted away to take up their posts once again.

"Neat trick." Lorans grinned, waving a hand in front of one of the passing people.

"Everything's possible with a Jedi on our side," Hunager proclaimed.

"We're not done yet," Jaeden interrupted, pulling out the map. "We're half a klik from the depot and the Capital District has more guards than any other."

"Then we'd better get moving," Polso said, gesturing with his rifle. 

They followed him into an alley and hugged the shadows, stopping at every corner, to wait with bated breath as Jaeden prodded for guards and patrols through the Force. They skillfully avoided them and detoured several times, taking a far longer route than a direct one. The location of their target was a tightly kept secret, protected by the Imperial Governor of Caralis, Beonard Dontrix.

He was a stout man the rebels knew well from his broadcasts over the local holonet. Each one was shown after an Imperial victory, imploring the Resistance to surrender in the most high-pitched voice any of them had every heard from a man. His sallow complection and tan robes of office blended seemlessly together, often giving the impression that he wasn't actually wearing anything at all.

The existence of the supply depot was unknown, even to the Imperials living outside the Capital District as a precaution if ever the Citadel was besieged. Coupled with an energy shield that didn't bother to protect the other Rings, the Governor and the Sith were safe in the knowledge that no harm could befall them inside the Citadel. 

The rebels had learned of all this through Lieutenant Mada's sleuthing and probing where most men shouldn't. Jaeden himself had discovered many things about covert operations and the SIS from Nordren during their time in the Resistance. But he'd grown rather distant in the last month. Avoiding conversations, deflecting questions, barely leaving his room...

Blue Team approached the inconspicuous building from behind. An average warehouse with an above average number of troopers surrounding it. Twenty-four by Polso's count but Jaeden did some Force probing to confirm there were twenty-eight black armoured enemies. 

"I wonder if any of them are girls..." Hunager wondered out loud.

Blue team turned to silently judge him.

"What?" He held up his hands. "You can have all the dudes. I just want one girl."

"You want an Imperial hard case binding you up with leather in a Sith torture chamber?"

"I know what I like, Derris." Hunager grew a smarmy grin. "I've seen the way you look at the Krag."

"Alright, enough," Jaeden said sternly. "We've got a Sanctuary to feed, remember?"

"Right, sorry."

"You stay here," Jaeden told them. "I'll circle around and get their attention so you can pick off the stragglers in the back."

"Can't we just use the shock nets Lieutenant Mada gave us?"

"The what?"

"These." Lorans pulled out another satchel. Inside were several pistols, a large sphere cut into slices sticking out of each barrel. 

Jaeden fished one out.

"Where did he get these?"

Polso shrugged.

"Said he made them out of the shock nets they used to catch animals in the Sanctuary without harming them. They've got enough voltage to knock a man unconscious. Sensors keep them unconscious if they wake up."

"Hmm," Jaeden approved. "We'll use them in combination. It'll give them less time to react before you fire."

Blue Team pulled out a pistol each and a few spare cartridges before moving into position around the building. Jaeden guided each of them through the shadows, disabling holocams with a twitch of the Force under his control. He kept flanking until he couldn't see any of his men.

The Imperial troopers continued patrolling as usual. A few of them turned to look at a flickering shadow or listen to a phantom shoe but none of them suspected that a blue lightsaber would soon ignite and slice their rifles in half.

Jaeden disabled several troopers with a massive Force push that cracked their helmeted heads against the wall. More came running around the corner and copped a similar fate with a powerful Force pull. While more still were ensnared as he fired off the pistol and its shock net.

The sphere split into slices and released a wide blue net that easily engulfed five men who were positioned a little too closely together. A current ran through the net and the troopers, rendering them unconscious as they collapsed in a heap.

The rest of Blue Team took their cue and quickly fired into the crowd of Imperials who began rushing toward the commotion. The sound of electricity crackled through the air and Jaeden couldn't help but shudder. He tried to remind himself that it wasn't coming from the hands of a Sith but it wasn't something so easily forgotten.

He circled around the building to find Blue Team tying down the last of the nets. Twenty-eight hostiles as he predicted, now subdued.

"Good work," he said to some grinning faces.

"We should invade the capital more often," Hunager suggested conversationally.

"Yeah, maybe you'll meet the girl of your dreams." Derris smirked.

"You're never gonna let this go, are you?"

A round of chuckling went around as Jaeden tapped into the Force to check for disturbances he couldn't see or hear. But again, he found nothing. There was darkness in the distance, he could feel it pulsating from the Citadel, but nothing close by. Nothing interested in them anyway.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," he said out loud.

"What is it?" Polso reacted quickly, pulling up his rifle.

"More Imps?"

"Sith?"

"No," Jaeden said. "Nothing."

"So what's the problem?"

"That's just it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "There's been no problems. All the way here. Everything went exactly as planned."

"Are you serious?" Hunager smirked. "We're doing _too_ well? Is that it?"

"You Jedi are weird, man."

"Come on, we gotta plant the charges." Polso nodded to the rest of Blue Team and they walked off, leaving Jaeden to puzzle their predicament, or lack of one.

Master Sebron had always said that the Force had a will of its own. His advice was to trust it to lead Jaeden down the right path. But was he right to trust so blindly?

Again, he wondered why his mind could not know peace. By all accounts, Lieutenant Mada's plan had been flawless from conception to execution. A suicide run had turned out to be little more than a walk through Caralis with some light calisthenics from the Jedi member of the party.

He breathed again deeply, feeling the energy in the air, the foul vibrations of darkness from the Citadel, the many Imperials inside. But they weren't perturbed in the slightest that the Outer Ring was on fire, the Mid Ring was undefended or the Capital Gate was unmanned. There was no sense of danger or urgency in them but Jaeden definitely felt that something was wrong.

He opened his eyes and found himself standing alone amidst the Imperial troopers they had so easily ensnared and curiously kneeled down to dehelmet one.

It was a young woman hidden under the soulless black mask. Auburn hair and dark skin. Young and pretty enough to find her way in the world without joining the military but here she was, putting her life on the line for Sith who couldn't care less about her safety.

Jaeden couldn't hate her. He reserved those feelings for a certain Order of Force users but this girl? She couldn't be any older than he was.

"Hmm," the Jedi considered, dehelmetting another trooper. 

A young man this time. Fair hair and features. Nothing distinguishable but his youth. Inexperience.

That was it.

Jaeden removed the helmets of all the troopers lying on the ground and found that their one common aspect was youth.

New recruits.

Why were they wearing heavy armor made for seasoned troopers? 

"Master Jedi!"

Jaeden bolted upright and sprinted towards the sound. He circled the warehouse and found the rest of Blue Team gathered around the tall wall which seperated the Capital District from the Inner Ring. Behind them was the entrance to the supply depot.

"Detonite's rigged, sir," Polso reported.

"Oh," Jaeden said, relieved.

"Something wrong?"

"Just a feeling," Jaeden murmured. 

"Feelings can wait. Red Team will be here with the getaway vehicle in twenty minutes. Charge blows in seventeen. We gotta load all the supplies onto a hovertrolley before it does and barricade ourselves inside."

"Yes," Jaeden agreed.

"Just wanted you to check if there's anyone in there."

"It's definitely empty of life forms," Jaeden said. "But there could be droids I can't sense through the durasteel."

"Maybe you should do the honours," Polso suggested and Blue Team flanked the entrance, weapons at the ready.

"Sure." Jaeden stepped up to the large door. 

He reached out a hand with his palm up and beckoned it to rise. The durasteel groaned with disuse and slid up into the wall, disappearing from view and revealing the dark warehouse within.

Jaeden drew his lightsaber, anticipating security droids or mounted turrets but nothing stirred. He stepped forward and ignited the blade, dispersing the darkness with a gentle blue light. It touched the floors and the pillars and the many crates and caches neatly stacked against the walls. 

Free for the taking.

"Looks like it's all here," Lorans noted, following him.

"The Lieutenant was right."

"And Erik too."

"There's more than we'll ever need," Derris consulted his datapad. 

"Maybe it's not rations?"

"You think there are weapons?" Jaeden wondered.

"Could be." Hunager walked over to a nearby crate and pushed the release button.

The crate hissed and beeped, raising the lid off the top and retracting it back.

"Nope. More rations." He scooped a few packets off the top to look underneath.

"Aw, I could have used a new blaster," Derris moaned.

"What's wrong with the one you've got?"

"I promised one of the boys they could have it."

"Can we talk about this while we load up the goods?" Polso interrupted.

"Fine."

"Yeah, alright."

Hunager wandered a little further into the warehouse and found a working hoverlift. He scrambled up into the driver's seat and rubbed his hands together before turning it on.

Derris found the control panel that powered the building. Several big lamps blinked on to illuminate the warehouse and what were enough rations for sixty cities, let alone one.

"Greedy buggers," Lorans grumbled.

"Hey, you should be grateful," Derris shrugged. "They put it all here in one convenient location for us to steal."

Jaeden frowned.

It was convenient. And odd. 

If what the Krag had told him was true and the Governor was smuggling goods off world, wouldn't excess rations be just as expendible?

"Sir," Polso called out.

Jaeden tried to shake off the bad feeling that was wrenching his guts and walked over to look at the hoverlift.

"I think that's all we can fit in the van."

"It's more than enough," Jaeden said, folding his arms.

"Red Team should be along in seven minutes," Derris tapped at his datapad.

"Charge blows in five. Seal the entrance," Polso told him.

He wandered over to the control panel and tapped a few keys. The door quickly began lowering over the entrance. Derris flipped a few switches and the humming whir of an energy field generator could be heard from the back of the warehouse.

"We're locked down, sir," he said.

"Alright," Polso nodded. "Then we sit tight."

"Until the gate goes BOOM!" Hunager chuckled from the hoverlift's seat.

"You're getting real cocky, you know that?"

"Well, excuse me, Mr High'n'Mighty, if I'm feeling a little better than when we were agreed to a suicide run."

"Yeah, Sergeant. It's not everyday you steal the Governor's private stash and get away with it. The Imps are gonna be livid."

"We're not home yet," Jaeden told them.

"Are you pickin' up Red Team, Master Jedi?"

Jaeden closed his eyes.

"Maybe," he said. "There's definitely a vehicle on approach. Right numbers of sentients. Yes, that's definitely Captain Kraglus."

"They made it!"

"We're home free," Lorans grinned.

There was a muffled roar as the detonite charge on the Capital Wall exploded outside the warehouse. The eruption licked the energy field and the lights inside flickered as it took damage but not the brunt of the blast.

They felt the ground shake as the Wall outside crumbled into ruins like that of the Outer Rings. Some pieces hit the roof of the warehouse with a loud thud like the rain of destruction that Caralis had witnessed only a few short years ago. But this time, they were in control.

The rumbling stopped and the energy field stabilized. From within the warehouse all seemed well and Jaeden stretched the Force outside his field of sight to check for damage.

"That's a big hole," he said, his eyes closed.

"Then it worked?"

"Yes. There's a wide breach. And I can feel Red Team approaching."

"Great," Polso approved. "Derris, open the door."

"Yes, sir," he replied, confidentally tapping at the control panel.

But nothing happened.

Derris irritably pecked at it again but the door refused to move.

"Very funny, Corporal," Polso grumbled. "Now, get it open."

"I'm trying," he said desperately.

"You think the mechanism was damaged in the explosion?" Lorans asked.

"No, the energy field is still online but the controls are non-responsive." His tapping and typing became much more erratic.

"Can you turn off the energy field?" Hunager suggested.

"I'm trying, _I'm trying."_

"Less trying and more doing. Red Team will be here in less than a minute," Polso barked.

"I can't bypass the system in less than sixty seconds."

"There's got to be a manual override somewhere," Jaeden said a lot more calmly than he felt.

"Yeah," Derris nodded, visibly anxious. 

"Up there." He pointed at one of the rafters where a small emergency panel was painted bright red.

"I've got it," Jaeden said, reaching out through the Force. He raised two fingers and the door of the emergency panel swung open. The lever pulled down.

But nothing happened.

"Are you sure that was the manual override?"

"If you can find another one, then be my guest," Derris spat, frantically typing at the control panel.

The bad feeling plagueing Jaeden began consuming him and fear loomed on the periphery of his mind.

"No," he shook it off, walking toward the door. He slapped his hands against the durasteel and pushed them up with all the strength he had. His eyes scrunched shut as he concentrated on opening the cursed door but his mind wandered. 

He could feel the outline of a large vehicle pulling up outside the warehouse. It powered down and six rebels stepped out. The seventh remained inside, injured. 

"What's going on?" he heard a muffled voice.

"I dunno but I don't like it."

And then he heard blasterfire.

"Someone's shooting!" Lorans yelled.

"Get that blasted door open!" Polso shouted.

Jaeden abandoned the Force and pulled out his lightsaber. If he couldn't open the door, then he would go through it. The blue plasma blade plunged into durasteel and sent sizzling specks of molten metal flying in all directions.

Then he heard more blasterfire.

It caught one of the rebels in the heart and Jaeden felt the Force escaping his body.

"No!" he shouted, redoubling his efforts to cut through the door.

"Get off me, ya blasted Imps," he heard the Krag growl.

More blasterfire scorched the air as did the lightsaber in Jaeden's hand. 

"Almost there!" he called out to the survivors but it was no use. They couldn't hear him.

He could feel more sentients rushing in to surround the rebels who stood fast against the attack.

Another fell, stunned but not dead. Then another and another.

Jaeden roared as the final part of the durasteel gave away and that's when the lights went off. 

The muted whine of the energy field died and the warehouse was plunged into darkness.

"What just happened?" Polso barked, clicking on a torch.

"The power's out," Derris uttered.

"Did you turn off the generator?"

"No. That wasn't me."

Silence filled the darkness and Jaeden pulled his lightsaber out of the durasteel, ready for an attack. 

"Get back," he told them. "We're being ambushed."

"Damn it! They must have known we were coming." Polso powered on his rifle and took cover behind some crates.

"It was Erik, he must have told them," Lorans stumbled into cover.

"Blasted traitor."

"Quiet," Jaeden snapped. "I need to concentrate."

He slowed his breathing and waited.

The lifeforms outside were moving. The defeated rebels were being dragged away. The hole cut into the durasteel door glowed red and yellow around the edges but he didn't dare push it open for now, it was the only thing standing between them and the Imperials.

He was ready for the worst.

For Sith and endless armies and hovertanks and cannons but nothing came.

Then he remembered the missing Sith at the Capital Gate. If this was all a setup then Jaeden being trapped with the rebels was not part of the plan.

The men and women outside weren't Force Sensitive, he could feel that much. Was it possible they had miscalculated?

He closed his eyes again and tried to sense his enemy's plot.

There were only four of them outside the door. All well-armed but strangely idle. As if waiting for something. 

Jaeden let his senses spread further. All the way through the warehouse, touching every inch of every crate, the four panicked rebels, the hoverlift, the structure of the building itself. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Were they waiting for them to surrender?

A whisper of sliding metal reached his eardrums and Jaeden quickly looked up to see a small hatch open in the ceiling. A single canister fell through, tumbling into a stack of crates below.

"Gas!" he called out, catching the container with the Force before it hit the floor.

Jaeden pressed his sleeve into his face as a thick white mist erupted from the canister and sent it spinning.

"Dammit! Lorans, get the masks!" 

Polso and the others scrambled to put them on but Hunager was too far away, too close to the mist which entered his lungs and constricted his airways.

Jaeden could hear him gag as Derris ran over to pull the mask over his head, straight into the dense cloud of toxins. He started coughing loudly.

"What _is_ this stuff?"

"Derris get back here!"

"Back... where..."

The two of them slumped onto the floor and Jaeden summoned the Force to pull them back towards the group. But it was no use.

Soon, Lorans was on his knees. The mist around them grew thicker.

"Stay with me, Private," Polso shook him.

"It's... too strong..." he sputtered.

"No." Polso coughed violently. "Master Jedi, we can't let them take us hostage. We have to-"

"No!" Jaeden shouted. "I won't let you kill them."

"You don't... understand." 

Jaeden caught him before he fell.

_"We're already dead."_

"No..." Jaeden muttered, drowsiness flooding his mind. "Not yet."

He lay Polso down and stood back up. 

The mist was fast-acting and already evaporating. He felt the air clear and tried to breathe deeply as he'd been taught. Through the Force, all was possible, he reminded himself.

Emotion, yet peace.

He pulled out his saber again and approached the door which he'd sliced open. A Forceful kick and the slab of steel rushed out at the Imperials outside. They scattered but it hit one of them full force, crushing the body under its weight. 

The Jedi flew through the opening with lightsaber ignited, ready for enemies, ready for an attack. But as soon as his feet hit the ground, he knew it was too late as six shock nets were fired in his direction, consuming him from all sides.

The pain was blinding but he grit his teeth and fought through it. He would not be taken captive. He would not. He had to protect the rebels who'd trusted him. But not all things were possible through the Force and as he struggled against the nets, a single dart entered his neck, releasing the final shot which would send him to sleep.

Into oblivion...


	19. Undercover

Hidden under the floor of the Parretal Forest, the Ithorian Sanctuary grew colder with each subsequent level beneath the earth. When, once, the upper levels were relegated to scientific inquiry, the lower floors were furnished to provide adequate respite for the weary researchers who spent many years cataloguing the wildly varied species of flora and fauna in the ecosystem above.

The accomodations, however, were in no way suitable for the staggering number of refugees that had been forced to take shelter in the Sanctuary since then and many rooms had to be remodelled by the new occupants to better suit their needs.

For instance, the small office space on Cresh 3 which had once been used to manage administrative duties within the research complex was easily converted into living quarters with the addition of a bed and the removal of its plasteel cubicle dividers.

Lieutenant Nordren Mada had taken up residence in the small apartments with its many computer terminals and viewscreens allowing him to continually assess the safety of their position and any possible threats which could arise.

He spent countless hours there, pouring over data and incoming infomation for anything that could help him elude the Empire and preserve the Resistance for even one more day, often staying up late through the night to make sure they would be safe, until Soren had killed him.

"Vergyl Holke. Human. Male. Fifty to sixty-five years of age. Hair colour: black. Eye colour: brown. Complection: dark. Military training, blasters, rifles, assault cannons, strategic and tactical expertise. Former General of the Republic Army, other aliases include Daggerstar, Hero of Corellia and Red Defender. In possession of Republic military secrets now in demand by SIS Operations Director Ardun Kothe," Soren repeated to himself for the hundredth time as he rapidly scanned the viewscreen with his glowing red eyes.

He was searching for Vergyl Holke.

 _Had_ been searching for over a month now which was nothing compared to the decade SIS had spent tracking him down.

The codename: General had absconded with secret plans for some sort of doomsday device before the Cold War. Plans the Republic now feared would end up in the hands of the Empire but Holke was clever. He plotted a course for the Outer Rim and hid among the simple farmfolk of Danisla while paid mercenaries made subtle appearances across the galaxy on his behalf.

It was years before they tracked his location to the obscure little planet, right before the Empire decided to rain destruction down upon it.

Republic SIS agents were sent to secure Holke but lost him in the throng of refugees and many perished as the Empire bombarded the capital. All they could do was evacuate the survivors and call for help when the bombings settled down. They formed an underground Resistance, secretly fuelled by the Republic, trying desperately to keep the General from falling into enemy hands.

Soren leaned back against his seat and rubbed his eyes, exhausted. The pale light of the viewscreen reflected off his sapphire skin as he took a deep breath and dived back into the files he was searching through.

The SIS was investigating every single member of the Resistance, calling in Republic troops to fight on the front lines while they profiled the Danislan National Guard for possible matches to the General's description, even conscripting Jedi to fight for their lost cause. But it was a wonder they had survived so long.

Eventually, they were able to confirm Vergyl Holke was not, in fact, part of the local military. Instead, his likely hiding place was the sea of refugees that had fled Caralis during the initial attack.

One hundred thousand men, women and children had been ushered from their homes by the soldiers in the final hours of the bombing and the SIS had spent three years painstakingly profiling and cataloguing each and everyone one of them, eventually splitting the lot between three underground Sanctuaries.

Unfortunately, the rapidly aging population of Danisla meant that 41% of the natives matched the physical description and 89% percent of them had served the obligatory term of three years in the Danislan National Guard. With only the fragmented profile of Vergyl Holke which Soren had memorized, the list of potential matches could be narrowed down to just under twenty three thousand men, all moved to the Parretal Sanctuary for further study. Anything else was mere speculation and the SIS had begun to lose hope that they would ever find their target.

When Ardun Kothe took over the division responsible for finding the General, he began to suspect the Empire had secretly done away with Holke while they were distracted. And who better to send than a former Cipher Agent to investigate?

Soren remembered receiving the call one month prior to his current predicament.

"Infiltrate Imperial Headquarters on Danisla, find out what they did to Vergyl Holke and report to back to me, Legate," Kothe had demanded. "If he isn't dead yet, I want him alive."

The cunning Chiss had been an accomplished Imperial spy before going undercover to expose the SIS and Ardun Kothe's little band of miscreants so when he arrived on Caralis, no infiltration had been necessary. He walked into Imperial Intelligence and greeted his old liason, Watcher 66, who immediately cleared him for all information concerning the war effort on Danisla.

Unfortunately, they had nothing concerning Vergyl Holke.

He was not a prisoner, he wasn't a person of interest. There was no rebel corpse matching his description and there was no death mark with his name on it.

Remaining tight-lipped about his true intentions, Soren secretly downloaded all the census information from Danisla's crumbling National Archives and cross-referenced Holke's physical attributes with his military capabilities and immigration timeline.

This narrowed the list of likely candidates down to 13,189 men. Only 2,094 were confirmed dead. The rest were unnaccounted for but registered as residents of Caralis City. A reasonable agent would conclude that if they _had_ escaped, it would have been with the aid of the Danislan National Guard and the Resistance. So there was nothing Soren could do from the Imperial side of the conflict.

But Ardun Kothe didn't care. He wanted Holke and he wanted him yesterday. In light of this information, Soren was given a contact in the SIS and ordered to infiltrate the Resistance base which the Imperials had not even come close to finding in the three years since their occupation.

A week later, he was inside the Sanctuary, disguised as one of the refugees. He slipped in unnoticed while one of the scouts was returning to base and spent a few days surveilling the complex under the cover of a stealth field, listening, learning.

But he wasn't going to find the General by simply walking through the crowded halls looking for an old man that might match his description. Soren needed a list. A tangible collection of information on all of the Resistance' members, fighters and refugees to compare with his own data.

He discovered the War Room but it was constantly being watched by a series of guards that would be too suspicious of his activities. He needed someone with access to classified information, someone who kept his records seperate from the War Room computers, someone like Lieutenant Nordren Mada.

The Agent had been seated in the very same position when Mada walked in on the blue-skinned alien with burning red eyes perusing his files. But before he could even make a sound, Soren flew from his seat and slipped a hidden blade into his throat, covering his mouth with the other hand. Swift, clean, quiet.

He stemmed the blood with glue and disposed of the body in one of the Ithorian meat-grinders once used to feed the Sanctuary's growing population of Danislan fang-cat cubs. There had been extra meat served in the Mess Hall that day and not a single person was the wiser.

Unfortunately, this also meant that Soren was stuck impersonating the good Lieutenant while he searched for the General.

He took over Mada's responsibilities immediately, learning on the fly and adapting to his surroundings. As Captain Delwitt's right hand man and chief military strategist, the Lieutenant's burden weighed heavily on the young Chiss operative's shoulders as he struggled to balance his allegiance to the Empire while maintaining his cover as both an SIS agent and Nordren Mada.

Soren lost track of how many people he was double-crossing to find Holke but he was pretty sure that quintuple agent wouldn't catch on as a profession.

Despite his successful infiltration, he was still unable to pinpoint the General's location and identity. He needed help and to stay one step ahead of the Empire which was now, apparently, his job. Soren contacted Watcher 66 to set up a secret information pipeline to this effect.

He began sending the Lieutenant's scouts to predetermined locations with covert messages to be captured by the Empire. The scouts were lightly tortured and implanted with encrypted information before being set free to wander back to the Resistance and Soren's new friend, Dr Haldis. No one suspected that a cracked rib could house a data-spike or that the good doctor could remove it without leaving a mark.

But with all the information from Mada's computer, the SIS catalogue and the Empire's database, he was getting no closer to finding Vergyl Holke than he was three weeks ago. He had combed through it all a dozen times with the same precision he combed his hair but alas, a single strand had slipped through the cracks.

He began seeing him everywhere, in every face as he walked through the compound, hoping that he would simply run into the old man but hope was not one of his stronger attributes.

Soren was running out of time.

A data spike was not the only thing Dr Haldis found inside Erik's withered body when she opened him up.

There was a tracker.

Someone knew Erik would return to the Resistance and they wanted its location. It was too late to destroy the bug but several hours of slicing later, Soren traced the signal back to Lord Freasch's camp. The chatter indicated an imminent attack as the Imperials packed up and moved out. No doubt the Sith had grown overly curious about Watcher 66 and his hard line stance on withholding information. And Soren had a pretty good idea what befell his old colleague when they found out.

It wasn't good.

Orbital scans from various sliced satellites revealed that Lord Freasch was uprooting his camp in the Karossa valley and marching on the Parretal Sanctuary with his horrendous army of dark beasts. Taking into account for distance and terrain, Soren calculated that he had less than eight hours remaining to find Vergyl Holke and extract him before the attack.

The rest of the refugees were expendible, the SIS only wanted the General and they would provide an adequate distraction for Freasch while Soren whisked him away. If only he could _find_ him.

He closed his eyes, giving them a moment's rest which he knew he couldn't afford. Resting one arm on the other, he brushed his lip absently with his thumb, thinking, analyzing. Time marched through his stress-addled nerves as he tried to remain calm.

But deep down Soren was furious with himself. Unable to find and extract a single man from this backwater planet and now his location had slipped into the hands of a madman? Even if Lord Kallig answered his summons, he wasn't sure she could defeat Lord Freasch. Slow him down maybe, give Soren an extra hour or two to find Holke, but what good was that if he hadn't done so in three weeks?

He was better than this. He knew it. What was he doing wrong? Where in the blazes was Vergyl Holke?!

A few strands of hair decided to compound his irritation by breaking free of the rest and smack him straight in the forehead. Soren took a deep breath, brushing them back with a hand but stopped abruptly to examine the glistening anomaly. A sliver of silver had begun to penetrate the deep midnight blue of his hair, streaking it with thin lines of grey.

Chiss hair didn't grey, Soren thought. He always assumed it was exclusively Human trait but there wasn't just a single hair sticking out of his head to prove him wrong. It was a nasty surprise he discovered after taking the IX serum which was supposed to break him free of Ardun Kothe's mind control but instead the toxic chemicals had bleached some of his hair and possibly his brain.

Something akin to a lightbulb went off in his mind as Soren realised he had been inadvertedly searching for a black haired individual when the man he was looking for was well past his fifties. Human hair greyed and receded during what they called middle-age.

He leaned forward and quickly began typing away at the terminal's keypad, adjusting his search parameters. The patchy data he had been given by the SIS showed Vergyl Holke's father, Jerald, had been bald before his untimely death at the age of 57. If he accounted for the same genetic predisposition in his son, then his search would narrow further. Most of the Danislans were hard-working farmer types of dark complection and thick black hair which persisted well into old age.

Sure enough, the search returned a total of 1,354 profiles which matched the updated description and it took him the best part of 36 minutes to further narrow them down to thirteen potential suitors.

Soren desperately missed the assistance of Watcher 2 and her genetically enhanced mind. He was clever but he wasn't a super-computer and the strain was getting to him. He rubbed his eyes again and tried to focus on the remaining dossiers. He was close, he could feel it.

Thirteen potentials. Further reading revealed that four of them were inapplicable to the profile; shamans and priests of the Karthnakla religion which involved chemical castration through various local herbs and potions. Six had been retired from military service for desertion, cowardice or injury which left three candidates for him to consider.

Dorfis Krane, Brock Selor and Roban Greyam.

Soren scanned their profiles finding a similar pattern among the descriptions. He brought up the last known holo-portrait of Vergyl Holke to compare.

Dorfis Krane had an incredibly strong jaw and wide cheekbones which were in no way similar or possible to reconstruct on Holke's round cranium.

34% match.

Brock Selor's nose was so long and crooked, broken twice according to the file, that it would have been easier to reconstruct his entire face. He didn't look like a General, he looked like a thug.

26% match.

Roban Greyam, though...

He could see it. The same thick eyebrows, now grey. The wide, tight-lipped mouth outlined with deep nasolabial folds were similar too. His hair had receded significantly and he was no longer clean-shaven but it could very well be the same man, 10-15 years later. 64% physical match.

The biographical information fit the description as best it could. Immigrant. Approximately ten years residence. Lives alone. Modest property owned in the outer ring of Caralis, probably purchased with the last of his credits.

Soren's own eyebrows knitted together and a mischevous grin bloomed on his face.

He leaned back in his chair and templed his fingers to gaze at his quarry from afar. Given the piecemeal information he had, the probability that Roban Greyam was actually Vergyl Holke was only around 13.24%. There was no way of truly knowing without a formal interrogation but that could be arranged...

Finally, something was going right.

Soren quickly rose from his seat and picked up the stealth field generator from the table. Attaching it to the inside of his collar, he activated the device and a blue light swallowed up his head, replacing it with the Human visage of Nordren Mada.

The Agent had been masquerading as the Lieutenant for weeks, wearing the uniform of the Danislan National Guard and white gloves to cover his hands. No-one suspected that an alien had secretly murdered their favourite Intelligence Officer and taken his place among them.

He made sure never to eat or drink in public; an action that could damage the holographic facade and give him away. And blaming his need to tirelessly work on revising the Resistance' strategy, he would lock himself away in the Lieutenant's quarters to search and plan and scheme.

He keyed the terminal and brought up an old holovid of the late Nordren Mada making a report to Kraglus Delwitt which had been recorded for posterity.

"The scouts have returned from surveying the area, they say security has tightened over the Hink's Head gulf," Mada's ghostly form reported over the holo.

Soren paused the recording and cleared his throat, repeating the Lieutenant's report word for word. He was getting better at imitating the Danislan drawl but he still practiced every time he was about to make a holocall.

He replayed the recording and mimiced Mada's speech pattern until he was satisfied it was consistent and then activated the intercom.

"Private Kesho," he said.

"Yes, Lieutenant," replied an eager young man's voice.

"See if you can locate Roban Greyam for me," Soren requested in a fair imitation of Mada's barritone.

"Oh, he was guarding the prison cells on Aurek Six where Erik Serth was being held," the enthusiastic young private replied. "Is that why you want to see him?"

"Yes," Soren replied automatically, pleased that the young man had provided him with a coherent excuse. "Tell him I wish to speak to him in my private quarters."

"Right away, sir," he responded and ended the communication.

Soren took the Lieutenant's coat off its hook and shrugged it on, buttoning the tan armorweave as he'd seen Mada do countless times on the holos. He pulled on a pair of white gloves and examined his reflection in the mirror to make sure nothing was out of place.

The young Chiss was a stickler for details and the smallest thing would irritate him endlessly if he couldn't fix it. He brushed a hand through his hair habitually, disturbing the holographic disguise for just a second and revealing his own face. It disappeared into Nordren Mada's image as soon as his hand cleared the projection area.

Nordren Mada. He was Lieutenant Nordren Mada.


	20. The Living Martyr

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roban Greyam confronts Nordren Mada about Erik Serth's family visiting him during imprisonment.

Roban Greyam was in the Mess Hall, finishing the tray of gruel they had been serving for the second week straight. Supplies were low in the Sanctuary, with every attempt to seize more from the Empire having backfired in the last month. They were running on empty and it was a wonder that the men and women in the kitchens could pull even _this_ out of the dwindling rations they had.

The Mess was practically empty anyway. The Krag had taken his best fighters to the capital to storm the Governor's cache in a desperate attempt to secure more food before the rains came but Roban knew it was hopeless. There was no way he was coming back, even with a Jedi.

Roban hadn't always lived on Danisla.

Once, he had lived in the Core, where the Republic unified most of the galaxy under its banner of peace. But that had been a long time ago. Before the Empire invaded. Before the Great War.

Roban grew up on Corellia, far from the capital, Coronet City, dreaming that one day he would escape his small town and join the Republic Navy. His wish came true on his 18th birthday, when a passing recruiter whisked him away to the Corellian Security Academy and within several years, he was stationed on the Republic Dreadnought Perpetuity, just as the Empire emerged from the Unknown Regions of space to wage war on the Republic.

Their attack was brutal and massive on a scale the galaxy had not witnessed since the Great Hyperspace War. They annihilated worlds all along the Outer Rim, starting at the Tingel arm and quickly conquering key planets along every major Republic trading route, blockading and starving the cut-off Core worlds.

Roban's superiors fell like stink-flies with every Imperial conquest. The soldiers were faced with overwhelming forces of Imperial troops and even fighting side-by-side with Jedi, the Republic could do little more than hold off the onslaught of the Sith. Massacres all over the galaxy saw Roban quickly promoted through the military hierarchy as he managed to survive each ordeal, but only barely. And at the age of 39, he was promoted to General.

It soon became abundantly clear that the Empire couldn't be reasoned with, no matter how many diplomats and ambassadors were sent to negotiate. All of them turned up dead and it was obvious that no quarter would be given until the Republic was crushed and conquered entirely.

The people began to lose hope.

On the surface, the Senate and the Grand Chancellor stood fast against the enemy, assuring the citizens that fairness and justice would prevail but internally they had no issue approving the annihilation of entire planets to ensure the death of even a single Sith General.

Roban saw first hand how quickly the morals and ideals of the Republic were discarded when faced with an enemy as terrifying as the Sith.

Secret projects were commisioned to produce world-killers and doomsday devices in hopes that at least one would reach completion before the Sith invaded the Core. And it almost was.

Colonel Laren Omas had been placed in charge of the SIS to supervise a group of scientists responsible for the creation of such a device. He mentioned the Republic Superweapon Initiative in passing during one of his military briefings and being one of Roban's oldest friends, offered to show him the Republic's so-called trump card.

Omas took Roban back to Corellia and introduced him to Doctor Nasan Godera who was hard at work on what they were calling the Shadow Arsenal. When Roban asked what the weapon was capable of, they all readily replied that it could wipe out the entire Sith Empire in a barrage of undetectable missiles. But when he asked if the missiles discriminated between friendly and hostile targets, the answer wasn't as clear.

Godera became thoughtful and hesitant, considering the ramifications of detonating even a single missile on an Imperial ship within range of a Republic world. The casualties would be catastrophic. Just as they would be for any peaceful Imperial worlds filled with civilians. The weapon could potentially annihilate half the galaxy's population in their fervent attempt to destroy the Empire.

Colonel Omas, however, shared none of these fears or sentiments and assured Roban that they were going to win the war. No matter what.

He was killed shortly after, during a skirmish above Hoth, but Roban's conscience still ate away at him as he mourned his friend. He continued to fight for the Republic, to watch both sides of the conflict wither from the ceaseless battle and the development of the Shadow Arsenal weighed heavily on his mind.

But then, in an unexpected turn of events, the Empire offered to negotiate peace with the Republic. An incredibly generous and suspicious move, given their advantage. But Roban saw the opportunity and could not bring himself to be complicit in genocide when the war could soon be over. So before the Treaty of Coruscant was signed, he made a rash decision.

Roban spoke privately to Dr Godera, who had been experiencing growing doubts about the use of his superweapon and convinced him to hide it. They split up the plans and deleted their information from the SIS database, ensuring that a second device couldn't be replicated and fled.

Doctor Godera exiled himself to Taris, angry and disparaged at the Republic for submitting to the Empire's unfair demands while Roban changed his name and fled to the other side of the Outer Rim where the Republic could not follow. He hired a bunch of pirates to go around shouting his name on random Mid Rim planets while he settled down on Danisla, content to live out the rest of his days as a martyr.

Suddenly, the gruel on his plate tasted even worse than usual. He couldn't stomach another bite and pushed away the tray as he leaned his head on his hands, elbows resting on the table.

Roban loved Danisla, it was a beautiful world he had come to embrace as his own but the Empire had all but destroyed it too. He remembered running outside as the bombs rained down on the capital, the shadows of Imperial Destroyers circling in orbit as the flames grew. He remembered knocking on every door he could reach, telling everyone to evacuate the city but few had believed him until the Danislan National Guard came rushing through the streets, shouting for everyone to head into the tunnels. Roban remembered Bara screaming in his ear, asking if he'd seen her husband but he didn't reply. He dragged her behind him and disappeared into the growing crowd as they made their way out of Caralis.

He remembered war.

"Mister Greyam?" asked a cheery voice.

Roban started and looked up to find a bright young man in a military uniform beaming down at him from across the table.

"Uuuh, yes?"

"Private Kesho, sir. Lieutenant Mada requested to see you. He said it's about Erik Serth?" he began pleasantly. "The man you were guarding...."

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Time for my reprimands, eh?" Roban groaned as he stood, bussing his tray over to the waste receptacle.

"I wouldn't know, sir," the young man replied politely. "He asked that you meet him in his private quarters as soon as you are able."

Roban dumped the remainder of his gruel into the recycling bin and placed the tray and plate onto a conveyor belt which whisked them away into the unknown regions of the kitchens.

It was time to get grilled by the leadership for letting Bara into the prison to see Erik. He knew he was going to have to answer for it eventually.

"I guess I'm able, then," he said to the Private, eager to get the lecture out of the way.

"Very good, sir. His personal quarters are on Cresh 3, room 221," Kesho explained.

"I know where it is. Thank you, Private," Roban dismissed him.

Kesho saluted and left the Mess Hall with a smile. Roban watched him go despondently. Another youth, eager to grow up and join the military. How long before that innocent fire was dowsed with a cold shower of reality?

Roban sighed. He was getting old and cynical. The lad would make a fine officer one day, he was sure of it.

He left the Mess Hall and navigated his way through the crowded corridors to the turbolift. The number of soldiers may have dwindled, but the mass of refugees remained constant, shifting to find even a tiny shred of space in the overflowing Sanctuary.

He rode up to Cresh 3 and entered the slightly less congested hallway as he followed the numerically ordered room numbers down to room 221.

Roban had met Nordren Mada before.

He was a good man. Fair, hard-working, deeply patriotic. They'd shared drinks in the Mess Hall more than once and Roban knew that any reprimands coming from Mada were more than well deserved.

The one good thing about war was how it brought people together in times of adversity. Formalities were dropped and friendships flourished where once societal barriers had stood in the way. Roban had made many new friends since war had come to Danisla. Before, he had been living in seclusion, almost a hermit in his own home but rhe war changed things.

Roban pressed the button on the door's intercom and a light turned green.

"Lieutenant? This is Greyam. You asked to see me?" he said.

"Yes, Roban. Come on in," he heard the intercom reply and the door unlocked itself, sliding out of his way.

Roban entered the modest apartments which still resembled an office more than a living space. He didn't know how Mada could stand to be around so many viewscreens and holoterminals all the time. It reminded Roban too much of the War Room.

Nordren himself was leaning against a wall, his pale green eyes absently siphoning through information on his datapad as Roban came in. He looked up and smiled amiably to greet him and put the datapad away, offering a hand.

"Roban, thank-you for coming," he said.

"Lieutenant. How are you?" Roban shook Mada's gloved hand.

"Oh. Well. There's a war on since you haven't heard. The Empire invaded Danisla and we've been barely managing to survive so, could be better." he joked.

"Alright, alright. Don't make fun of an old man for caring." Roban chuckled at the deflected question. "You wanted to talk about Erik?" he said, changing the subject.

"Yes," Mada nodded. "We assigned you to guard him in one of the cells on Aurek 6, didn't we?"

"Yeah, about that..." Roban scratched his head sheepishly. "I tried to tell Bara that Erik couldn't have visitors but you should have seen the way she looked at me, those big brown eyes... I just couldn't say no..."

Mada crossed his arms. "Yes. Well, Master Vaelo also mentioned that you allowed Erik's children into the detention area?"

Roban's shoulders sank, he knew he shouldn't have done it but there were no other prisoners besides Erik and they just wanted to see their father.

He was not yet cold-hearted enough to deny them.

"I did," he admitted guiltily.

"I'm sure you understand that bringing children into a prison is irresponsible behaviour, Roban, and were you officially part of the military I would be forced to issue a warning..."

"I understand. I'm sorry, I just..." Roban muttered, trying to find the right words. Mada was eyeing him intently, gauging his reaction. "I just wanted them to be happy. If only for a moment. Those kids almost lost their father and Bara... she's been through so much..."

Mada sighed.

"Do you realize how much danger you put them in? If Erik had really been brain-washed by the Sith, there's no telling what he could have done to them."

"No, Erik's not like that. I've known him over a decade. He's a decent man, wouldn't hurt a mite. If the Sith had done anything to him, I'd know," Roban defended his friend.

"You knew him before the war?"

"We were neighbours when we lived in Caralis." Roban looked down at his feet. "Erik and Bara they... they made me feel welcome. Even made me second-father to their son."

"I didn't realize you were so close..." Mada spoke softly. "Where did you live?"

"In the southern outer ring. It wasn't much topside but when the rains came down and everyone went below... well, it felt like..."

"Home," Mada finished for him. "You're not from Danisla, are you Greyam? You've been here a while but you still sound like you're from the Core."

"Can't run anything past you, Mada," Roban chuckled. "I did spend some time in the Core before settling down."

"Really? What made you choose Danisla of all places? I don't think anyone in the Core has ever even heard of us," Mada smiled.

"It's a beautiful world. Quiet, peaceful. At least, it was," Roban mused. "What about you? Can't see a man of your talent learning what you know on Danisla."

"Haha, you're right. I did a few rotations on Coruscant back in the day."

"You served in the Republic Army?"

"Strategic Information Service, actually. But uh, didn't stick. You know?" Mada replied cagily.

Roban knew. All too well. He suddenly became very tense. He had not heard of the SIS for over a decade and the idea that Mada had ties to them made him uneasy. He had just let slip quite a few bits of information that were best kept secret but he trusted Mada. The Lieutenant had been on Danisla during the Great War, there was no way he could be an SIS operative...

"I admit, I never thought I'd have to use that training to such an extent," he continued conversationally.

"The National Guard are lucky to have you. Captain Delwitt is a fine leader but I doubt we would have survived this long without your expertise."

"That's very kind of you but all I've ever done is research and planning, never any actual fighting." Mada gestured to all the viewscreens and computer terminals surrounding them.

"A soldier is nothing without a strategy, Lieutenant."

"You speak from experience?"

Roban froze up. He was wading into dangerous territory here. Mada's question was an innocent one but very sensitive in the secret department and Roban thought carefully before answering.

"As much as anyone can," he replied.

Mada looked away for a moment, hesitant. His eyes gazing towards the brightly lit viewscreens covered in endless numbers and letters too small to read from a distance.

"Perhaps if we had more experienced men in the Resistance, a lot more of us would still be alive," he considered thoughtfully.

"You'll need a lot more than experienced men to win against the Sith'" Roban noted.

"You're right. I've been using all my contacts in the SIS to call for more aid but they've been ignoring me completely. They've given up on Danisla, they just don't want to say it to my face," Mada sighed. He looked defeated, like a man waiting for the end to come.

"The Republic has abandoned us..."

Roban felt some patriotic stirrings in the back of his mind. He remembered some of the tougher calls he had to make back when he was in command. Fight to the last man for a lost cause or surrender another planet and live to fight another day? Neither was a victory but one spared the lives of his men and that had always been the easiest outcome to envision.

He understood Mada's frustration at being abandoned but the Republic was much bigger than just a single agroworld in the Outer Rim. Danisla wasn't a strategic location, the crops it produced weren't game changing in number or in quality, there were no exceptionally valuable resources to mine and its population wasn't incredibly wealthy or politically influential. Strategically, there was no reason to sacrifice hundreds of thousands of men to liberate it.

Roban sighed. "The Republic can't defend everyone, Nordren. It can barely defend itself. Danisla isn't the only world that's been swallowed up by the Empire..."

"So we're supposed to take comfort in the fact that we're not alone in our struggle? That soon, other worlds like our own, will be enslaved by the greatest mass murderers in the galaxy?" Mada snapped.

"That's not what I meant-"

"Of course it isn't. You simply meant we're not important enough to be saved. I understand," he said with despair. Mada leaned an elbow against a high-backed chair and stared into the viewscreen solemnly.

Roban felt incredibly guilty all of a sudden. He had always felt a deep sense of responsibility for the Republic's misgivings, perhaps a side-effect of being in command for so long. For all he knew, the Empire could have invaded Danisla to capture him and get their hands on the Shadow Arsenal. Unlikely, but what other reason could they have for invading the simple home of this brave man and all the other refugees?

He thought of Erik and Bara, their children, the soldiers in the Danislan Guard, the people of Caralis, the poor farmfolk around the planet who had been enslaved through no fault of their own. If only he were still General Vergyl Holke of the Republic Army. He would have six dreadnoughts cruising in from hyperspace within the hour to set them all free. But he wasn't and he couldn't and he felt so incredibly guilty for it.

"I'm sorry," he said to Mada, who seemed distracted.

"It's alright. Actually, I could use your input." Mada pointed to the viewscreen. "Perhaps you can help solve this mystery for me."

"I'm not much for puzzles, Lieutenant," Roban shook his head.

"Indulge me," Mada invited him to look at the terminal and stepped away.

Roban shrugged and walked over to the desk. His eyes weren't as sharp as they used to be and he had to squint to read the tiny Aurabesh characters displayed on the black viewscreen. It looked like a dossier, similar to the ones he'd once received from the SIS and then it hit him.

 _"Name: Vergyl Holke_  
_Species: Human_  
_Gender: Male_  
_Age: Fifty to sixty-five standard years_  
_Hair colour: black_  
_Eye colour: brown_  
_Complection: dark_  
_Military training: blasters, rifles, assault cannons, strategic and tactical expertise._  
_Rank: Former General of the Republic Army_  
_Other aliases: Daggerstar, Hero of Corellia and the Red Defender._  
_Status: In possession of Republic military secrets now in demand by the SIS Director of Operations Ardun Kothe."_   He read with bated breath.

Roban closed his eyes and sighed.

"How long have you known?" he asked as the needle slipped into his neck.

"With certainty?" the stranger asked behind him. "Just now."


	21. Delivered

Soren had played his part to perfection. With extensive knowledge grained from Lieutenant Mada's personal journals, he manipulated Roban Greyam into revealing himself as Vergyl Holke and he could not be more pleased as he pushed down the plunger on the syringe of SLV-17.

The green liquid disappeared into the General's neck but he did not go quietly.

Holke threw a massive haymaker at him, swinging around wildly as Soren ducked under the flying fist. The old man followed with a jab from his left and another from his right but Soren jumped back to avoid a collision. The SLV-17 would take effect soon, he needed only wait but that was easier said than done.

The former General had not lost his touch. With solid form, he threw punch after punch at the sprightly Chiss who somehow managed to block and dodge his attacks. He needed Holke in one piece. That's what the serum was for. Why wasn't it working?

Suddenly, the old man charged at him and Soren was caught in his big, great arms as they both crashed into the wall. The impact brought a shelf of loose office supplies toppling down and the debris disrupted Soren's stealth field generator, revealing his true blue face.

"You!" Vergyl grabbed him by the collar of Mada's coat. "You're an alien!" he wheezed in shock.

Soren didn't answer, instead taking the opportunity to kick him in the crotch and slip out of his grasp. He circled around Holke and swept a leg under his feet, dropping the old man to the floor.

Vergyl groaned as he rose to his elbows.

"What have you done with the Lieutenant?!" he demanded.

The stealth field generator on Soren's collar righted the holo and his sapphire skin was replaced with the tanned but fair complection of Nordren Mada once more.

"I am the Lieutenant," he said confidently.

"Y-you are the Lieutenant..." Vergyl wheezed.

Soren could see green rings forming around his irises as the SLV-17 reached his brain, clouding his judgement, his will, his inhibitions. The General would be a husk of his former self for the next couple of hours, just enough time for Soren to get him out of here. But first, he had to be sure.

"Tell me your full name."

"My name?... My name is. Is Vergyl Holke," he said unwillingly.

"What was your rank in the Republic Army?"

"I was a ... a General," Holke replied through gritted teeth, trying to deny the serum's effects.

"And why did you leave the Republic?" Soren gazed down at the old man.

"I did something... stole something... hid it away. The Republic wanted to kill innocent people but I couldn't... I couldn't. Genocide. Death. So many, so many," Vergyl whispered. His hands were shaking but not from the cold.

He couldn't feel them. The serum's side-effects included systemic numbing of the extremities as well as the mind until it penetrated every nerve muscle. Soon, he would begin to feel pain, chronic and crippling.

"Uugh," he groaned. "It hurts. It all hurts. I can't..."

Soren leaned down to squat by the General and looked him dead in the eye to make sure he had his attention.

"If you want the pain to stop, you will do exactly as I say. Understand?"

"Anything. I'll do anything you say... please," he whimpered.

"Stay down. It hurts less if you don't move," Soren told him coldly.

"I will stay. Here," he muttered, laying his head on the ground.

The false Lieutenant stood up and made his way through the scattered office equipment on the floor to a nearby holoterminal and switched it on. He enabled several security protocols and manually typed in the SIS holofrequency, initiating the call.

It rang sporadically, trying to permeate through the many underground levels of the Sanctuary before someone picked up.

"This is codename Legate calling Base Command. Come in Base Command," Soren spoke to the shaky holo forming on top of the terminal.

"This is Base Command, Legate. What's your status?" replied Ardun Kothe as his transparent blue form fizzled into view.

"I have identified and secured Vergyl Holke but I need a transport to get him out of here immediately. The Parretal Sanctuary has been compromised and Imperial forces are on the move as we speak."

"Noted. We're sending a disguised Imperial vehicle to collect him and evacuate the rest of the SIS agents from the upper eastern entrance. Rendezvous in thirty minutes for extraction."

"Understood. Legate out." Soren ended the transmission.

Great. He had thirty minutes to smuggle a half-mad greybeard twice his size through the Resistance compound.

 _"This ought to be the easy part,"_ he thought to himself, approaching the cramped bed in which he hadn't been sleeping for three weeks. Some of the bigger lumps were a result of the sniper rifle and blasters he had hidden under the mattress but there were plenty of gadgets and concealed weapons he couldn't abandon too.

Soren took off Mada's coat and used a vibroknife to slice a few new pockets into the inside, hiding blades, gadgets and explosives within them. Imperial standard issue. He pulled out a leather holster from beneath the bed and strapped it on under his shirt, along with the protective vest and closed the sealing strip over them. With a blaster on each hip, Soren replaced the officer's jacket and coat, hefting his rifle overhead and letting it click into the magnetic holster under the clothes on his back.

He was ready. With luck, he would never return to this miserable place ever again.

The wily Chiss walked back over to the twitching General who was desperately clutching at the floor. He kneeled down and patted his shoulder.

"Vergyl. Can you hear me?"

"Yes... Have you come to take the pain away? Is it going to leave?" he mumbled.

"Yes, we're going to a place where you'll feel better. All you have to do is stand up and walk with me," Soren lied, supporting the old man's arm as he tried to rise.

"The rains are coming down... everything... sinking," he mumbled as Soren helped him to his feet.

"Follow me."

"Yes... yes."

He locked all the terminals and opened the door to room 221. There were a few people in the corridor and Soren casually greeted his neighbours, gently pulling Holke along behind him.

There was nothing strange about Lieutenant Mada leaving his apartments with one of the guards who had just visited him, only the faraway stare on the old man's face. Holke seemed to be careening through a mist of confusion. Each step was hesitant and laboured compared to the brisk walk of the Lieutenant beside him and his head seemed to bob with weary malaise.

Soren guided his companion towards the turbolift and pushed him inside before any of the other Danislans decided to get chatty. They rode up to Aurek 1 and the false lieutenant had to nudge him forward to get him moving. While he tried to maintain a friendly demeanour as they passed through the Main Atrium, at least six different men insisted on speaking to him and their problems.

"Lieutenant, Lieutenant Mada! There was something I needed to-"

"Sir, supplies on Besh 3, 6 and 11 are extremely low."

"There's been an altercation on Aurek 8, sir. Three men have been injured."

"Lieutenant Mada, how many days till the rains come?"

"Lieutenant!"

Soren did his best to answer their questions respectfully, knowing that most of those people would likely die in the coming days. Those who didn't, would be captured by Lord Freasch and used in his sick experiments or given to the Empire as slaves. In any case, the Sanctuary would be abandoned by the end of the week and there was little reason to continue maintaining it.

"...I'll address these issues when I return," he lied politely, continuing to push Holke through the crowded Atrium.

He wasn't coming back but they didn't know that. What was the truth worth when a comforting lie was received to much greater satisfaction?

He quickly navigated them out of the Atrium and into the long hallways leading to the surface.

Aurek 1 was the first and possibly the biggest level of the Sanctuary beneath the Parretal Forest. Many rooms opened up directly underneath the the oldest trees in the world and multiple hatches allowed access to remote feeding grounds, unreachable by any other method. The Ithorians had very thoughtfully constructed their secret hatches and air-pockets so as to not disturb the precious balance of the ecosystem above and in so doing, provided the Resistance with the perfect hidden base.

Soren steered Vergyl clear of any prying eyes as they took several detours to the far eastern entrance. Aware of the ticking clock, he spurred on the General with dark whispers and soon they were approaching a dead end. Two guards stood either side of a blocked off staircase which led to their destination.

They brightened when they saw the approaching pair.

"Lieutenant, this is a surprise. Were you expecting someone?" one of the guards asked.

"As a matter of fact, Gavin Troik should have returned by now," the Lieutenant Mada replied convincingly. "Any sign of him?"

"Not yet, sir," replied the other guard. "It's been real quiet since the Captain left..."

Gavin had been gone too long. The entire trip to Mt Foane and back would have taken him less than a day with the proper time adjustment for reconnaisance. If he hadn't returned by now then he was likely dead or captured by the Imperials, much like Erik. Neither possibility was very reassuring.

"The rains are coming now..." Vergyl muttered.

"Ah, yes. Old Roban here wanted to see the sky one more time before the rains come. Perhaps you'll let us wait for Gavin outside?" Mada smiled reassuringly.

"Uh, sure, sir," one the guards replied and shrugged.

The other nodded and tapped a few keys on the wall which unlocked the trapdoor blocking the staircase.

"Thank you, Bordis, Holrun. Carry on." The lieutenant nodded and gently ushered Holke up the staircase.

The soily trapdoor slid closed behind them as they stepped out onto the forest floor.

It was dark, almost pitch black. The night was moonless and the tall trees whose leaves formed dense clouds above them prevented any remaining light from penetrating the canopy.

The Chiss could still see the clearing, the trees and the prickleweed bushes, the brambles that hid the trapdoor from view. But Vergyl's Human eyes could not. He stumbled out into the darkness and tripped over a very large tree root almost immediately.

"No, no... it's sinking. My hands..." he mumbled as he rolled around on the ground.

Soren was already imagining what he was going to write on his next SLV serum feedback form.

 _"A little too potent. Subject experiencing greater vertigo and dissociation than previous tests. Suggest diluting solution by 5.2%,"_ he thought to himself as he picked up the General by the elbow and brushed the prickleweed off him.

They still had a ways to go. Every entrance to the Sanctuary was bugged with at least eight different holocams and Lieutenant Mada could not be seen boarding an Imperial dropship before disappearing from the base. He took Holke by the arm and guided him through the troublesome foliage, pointing out hazards before the zoned out General could trip over them.

When they were close enough to the rendezvous point, Soren stopped to signal his approach. He let go of Holke and pulled out his holocommunicator, using the faint blue light to flash the empty space in front of them.

If anyone was there, they would immediately see it and come to investigate.

He stared deep into the dense vegetation, searching for movement or any indication that someone was finally coming to take him away from this place. But the leaves and the bushes remained still. No one was coming.

He flashed the holocommunicator again. Perhaps they hadn't seen the signal? After all, they couldn't leave without their prize. Could they?

Soren felt the shadows of doubt creeping into his mind as he calculated the probability of the disguised Imperial dropship being discovered or shot down before it could reach him. Did that mean he would have to smuggle Holke offworld on his own? The serum's effects would only last another hour, maybe less. After that, he would have to knock him out and drag the man all the way to Caralis. How long would it take to reach the city on foot? He would need a speeder to make it before the rains fell. How would he enter Caralis with an unconscious body?

His thoughts were interrupted by the soft rustle of brush and bushes, invisible feet disturbing the ground in front of him. It was hard to make out through the din of forest nightlife but the flattened blades of grass could not be a coincidence. There was at least one stealth operative watching him.

Soren realised abruptly that his stealth field generator was still running so whoever it was, could see only the lieutenant. He tapped the device on his collar and the holo-facade of Nordren Mada faded away, revealing his deep blue skin, invisible against the darkness of the forest. The heightened oxygen saturation of the air brightened his vision and his eyes glowed fiery red against the black and blue.

"It's me, Legate," he said to his invisible watchers. "I've brought you the General."

"Damn, you look scary in the dark," Saber breathed, shedding her own camouflage. The yellow-skinned Twi'lek lowered her rifle and tossed her lekku over her shoulder in relief. She trampled through the brush and pecked Soren on the cheek as he handed over Holke.

"I guess you wouldn't need a torch with eyes like that," Hunter joked as his holo projection fizzled out. The sandy-haired Human was wearing a night-vision visor and pointing a blaster at Soren, a wry smile playing on his face. "You really are something. I didn't think we were ever going to find the General. Not alive, anyway."

"You might want to put him in binders before he regains himself," Soren suggested.

The General was trying to find his hands in the darkness in front of him, even though they were only an inch away from his face. Soren could see the green rings of the SLV-17 losing their initial vibrance. He would need to be contained once its effects wore off.

"My hands... they're gone ... Did I have hands?" Vergyl mumbled awkwardly.

"Woah, what did you do to him?" Hunter smirked as Saber brought out a pair of large cuffs.

"A little something to make him more agreeable. Should last another hour or so," Soren replied.

"Well, that makes our job easier," Saber said as she snapped the binders shut on Holke's outstretched hands.

"As long as he still remembers who he is after it wears off..." Hunter scoffed as he lowered his blaster.

"He will," Soren told them as Saber slowly guided Holke through the bramble and the foliage, her cybernetic eye tracing a route.

"I'll get him back to the ship," she said, disappearing into the trees, leaving Soren and Hunter alone in the dark.

He could see the crafty half smile dancing at the corner of Hunter's mouth, the kind he exhibited when he had some particularly bad news for the perceptive Chiss.

Hunter was a talented SIS Agent. Clever, cunning, resourceful and infinitely irritating. Soren would enjoy ending him when the time came.

"Looks like the other agents haven't made it out yet," Hunter observed.

Soren narrowed his eyes.

It was true. None of the other agents were here. Had Kothe lied to him? Was Hunter baiting him? What did he want him to say?

"Are we leaving without them?" he asked carefully.

"We?" Hunter replied incredulously, a little too much satisfaction in his voice.

Soren didn't gratify his guile with a response. The insinuation was obvious: he would not be joining them. Anger flared up in his heart as he realised he was being left behind but he knew how to contain himself, even with Hunter silently gloating.

"You want me to stay here?" he said, keeping his tone even.

"Those are the orders," Hunter smiled. "The General is first priority. We leave as soon as he's secured. More transports will come back to pick up the remaining operatives once he's safely offworld."

"Offworld? How long do you expect us to wait?" Soren asked, straining to keep his anger and frustration invisible. "Lord Freasch is marching on the base, we could be overrun by the time you return."

"Which is why Kothe wants you to defend it. Give us time to evacuate the rest of the operatives and give the Danislans a fighting chance," Hunter explained coolly.

"There are less than five hundred men who can fight, the rest are elderly, women and children. Freasch has seasoned Imperial troops and an army of monsters. What does Kothe expect me to do exactly?" Soren demanded. "I'm an Intelligence Officer, not a military miracle worker."

"Oh, come on. Don't sell yourself short. I'm sure you'll think of something." Hunter smiled, folding his arms. "Besides, how could you leave so many innocent people to die like that? You're not secretly rooting for the Empire are you?"

"My loyalty is to the Republic..." Soren replied sternly. He knew where this was going. There was a reason his loyalties lay with the enemy.

"Well, the Republic wants you to defend the base and just to make sure you do..." Hunter smirked. "Keyword: Onomatophobia."

Soren felt the sting of mind control saturate his brain as the Castellan Restraints accepted the keyword. His eyes grew unfocused and his body became stiff, there was no fighting it, his free will was gone.

The anger he'd felt only moments ago diffused into passive amusement. It was ironic, to be controlled in much the same way he had manipulated the General. He wondered if the SLV-17 was in fact a by-product of the IX serum which had been used to brainwash him. Not that it would help. Once applied, there was no way to reverse the conditioning, the Castellan restraints were permanent.

Imperial Intelligence was, if anything, thorough.

"You will defend the Sanctuary from Lord Freasch and his forces, ensuring we can evacuate all the remaining SIS Agents," Hunter declared.

Without thinking, Soren opened his mouth and replied, "I will defend the Sanctuary from Lord Freasch and his forces, ensuring you can evacuate the remaining SIS Agents."

"Alright, then," Hunter smiled. "If you'll excuse me. I have a flight to catch." He turned to leave.

"See you 'round." He waved a hand. _"Lieutenant."_


	22. Under Control

Soren stood stock still.

He wanted to scream but it would have been inappropriate.

It was odd, feeling emotions so deeply that he couldn't hear himself think but there it was. A tense, gnawing feeling in his chest that he couldn't ignore and couldn't act upon so he just stood there, dumbfounded.

The mind-control was already willing him back into the Sanctuary to ready the base for an assault. No choice. His feet shifted through the tall grass and turned his body around. He walked briskly back towards the entrance, already assessing the effectiveness of several potential strategies to secure the complex.

There was no chance of survival, he wasn't even considering it.

Captain Delwitt had stubbornly volunteered to lead the mission to Caralis and taken the Jedi with him, so the chain of command fell to Lieutenant Mada who Soren was impersonating. He would have to lead the remaining Resistance forces in defence of the base and personally participate in the battle if he were to give the SIS the longest possible time to recover their agents.

He understood Kothe's logic from a tactical point of view. The Imperials could overlook a single drop ship setting down near the Parretal forest to make repairs but if there were two or three, it would drawn unwanted attention. If they attempted to evacuate anyone en masse before the attack, orbital scans would show a large migration and the Imperials could send a bombing run to annihilate them all before Freasch even arrived.

They needed to protect the base, keep Lord Freasch's focus on the refugees, away from the General and the remaining SIS agents so they could be evacuated in the confusion of the coming battle. The Imperials wouldn't dare rain bombs down on a Sith Lord. Unless there was another Sith Lord at the controls.

Soren detested their endless bickering and powerplays. Much of his work with Imperial Intelligence had been clean up operations. Covering up massacres and maimings which the Sith left behind in their wake.

His last mission had been a ridiculous romp through the galaxy, dismantling a terrorist network against the Empire only to find that it was a Sith Lord named Darth Jadus who had orchestrated the entire thing to _'spread fear throughout the Empire'._

Never in his entire life had Soren wanted to roll his eyes more than he did in that moment aboard the Harrower-class dreadnought orbiting Artus Five.

As if the Sith didn't already spread fear throughout the known galaxy. Ridiculous.

Soren had chosen to spare the civilians on Dromund Kaas and let Jadus escape but with every passing day he regretted that decision a little more. Who knew where he was now. What he was plotting...

In all his time working for the Empire, Soren had only met a single Sith that wasn't a clinical psychopath. Her name was Altasa Valore. A former slave from what little he could dig up in the Intelligence Archives. She had only recently taken up the mantle of Lord Kallig. Before then, he only ever called her Night Fury during operations. Or Zsora.

Darth Malgus often recruited promising Imperial assets on the Vaiken Spacedock, assembling tactical strike teams which he sent on missions all throughout the galaxy. It was a much better strategy than it seemed. He always formed balanced groups of individuals with complementary skill-sets but Lord Kallig seemed to be a staple candidate, even when she was still an apprentice.

Soren wondered if she had received his message. Perhaps Gavin was able to relay it to her before misfortune had found him? Would she even answer the call? Sure, she owed him for that incident on the Chrysanthium but the Sith were so fickle. Instead of coming to his aid against Freasch, she could easily come to collect Soren's head.

Whatever the reaction, he needed to be prepared. The entire base needed to be put on alert. The civilians had to be moved into the lower levels for protection, the soldiers needed to be prepped and readied for battle, the energy shield warmed up and calibrated. Everything had to be ready.

The cunning Chiss slunk behind a tree just outside the clearing where the trapdoor waited. He needed to keep the upper eastern entrance free for the other SIS agents to evacuate but they couldn't be seen doing so. He tapped the tree he was leaning against, searching for the hidden panel. His fingers found the crease and pried it open to remove the cover of the surveillance hub.

Inside the counterfeit tree were a myriad of cables connecting hidden holocams to the central security system of the Sanctuary. Soren drew a datapad from his coat and connected it directly to the server, programming the cameras to loop over old footage to mask the agents leaving the base. He replaced the cover and camoflaged it with some fallen tree branches before standing.

Then he touched the collar of his coat to reactivate the stealth field generator which perpetuated his disguise. Once again wearing the face of Nordren Mada, he stepped out from behind the tree and grabbed one of the lower hanging branches which began to scan his hand.

The white gloves Soren wore had been delicately etched with the Lieutenant's biological hand print, a final gift before his body went through the meat grinder. The sensitive bioplast material mimiced the texture of human skin and fooled the scanner into identifying the man as Nordren Mada.

Soren drew two long pin-headed needles out of his sleeve and gripped one tightly in each fist as the trapdoor slid open ahead of him. The guards would be expecting Roban and the Lieutenant to return together. He could come up with some clever excuse as to why the old man was no longer with him but the stream of SIS agents leaving the base would raise too many questions. The guards had to be neutralized.

"HELP!" Soren screamed in his best Mada impersonation and spun behind the tree again, crossing his arms over his chest.

He could hear the guards come running into the clearing, weapons ready, confused at finding no danger as they emerged. This needed to be timed right.

Soren stayed deadly silent and still behind the tree, waiting, listening. The sound of footsteps and ragged breathing placed Bordis and Holrun approximately 5 metres behind him, one on each side of the tree.

With a deep breath, Soren projected his voice into the green beyond the clearing and shouted "HELP!" again.

The two guards reacted instantly, charging either side of the tree Soren was hidden behind.

They rushed past at full speed and his arms spread wide, shoving a spike through each guard's eye and into their brains.

They were dead before they hit the ground.

He dragged their bodies through the brush and into a particularly expansive prickleweed bush which grew seemingly larger with each passing minute. The overzealous verdure would cover the corpses in thorny branches within the hour, leaving no trace.

The false lieutenant brushed the forest litter off his trousers and smoothed his coat, straightening up before marching into the clearing and down the secret staircase into the Sanctuary.

It was time for war.


	23. Bad news

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren informs the Danislans of Lord Freasch's imminent attack and orders them to prepare for the assault.

The Main Atrium was abuzz with activity as usual. The Danislans milled about, trading, chatting, planning for the days ahead but Soren paid them no mind as he marched through the bustling crowd. The noise of the people he thought he would never see again washed over him as he beelined for the War Room, coat billowing with the speed of his step.

"Lieutenant, about the supplies I mentioned..."

"Lieutenant Mada, we need you to authorize the transfer of-"

"Sir, there's been a malfunction on Besh 17."

Soren didn't stop to acknowledge them, cutting swiftly through the crowd as more and more people approached him. Those with trivial affairs were quickly silenced by the look on Mada's face. The soldiers who watched him go immediately realized something was wrong and began to follow, forming a large procession behind the Lieutenant as he made his way through the great antechamber.

In his brief research on the Danislan people, Soren had profiled them as one of a herd mentality. There was little they did without the approval of one another or their religious leaders called Karthos. The early Danislans had been nomads whose civilization bloomed with the discovery of agriculture through some fortuitous accident attributed to their Gods. They were later discovered by the Republic who brought technology and trade to the primitive Human natives.

As such, the Danislan National Guard had been trained largely by the Republic Army and mirrored its disciplines in many ways but Soren often found they took a lot at face value. They trusted their superiors too deeply, almost like religious figures, eager to hear their words and mete out their will. It was a refreshing change from the Imperial military dealings Soren was used to, where even a lowly Private could stab you in the back if it meant self-promotion.

He crossed the threshold of the War Room and approached the central platform which was lowered to ground level so he could step up. The crowd of soldiers that had been following him dispersed around it, eagerly awaiting the word of Lieutenant Mada who rose up above them with two other officers seated at the controls.

Soren looked down at all the dark brown faces, blending seemlessly into the tan and yellow uniforms of the Danislan National Guard as more and more of them filed in. Their mood was sombre but their eyes eager. There was only so much sneaking and waiting a soldier could do before madness and hopelessness settled in. 

He scanned the crowd, estimating the number of reasonably competent fighters he had. It was around 400 at best, but the rest of them could be used effectively in other ways. Their fierce loyalty made up for years of wartime experience and Soren was pretty sure they would sacrifice themselves if he asked them to.

They trusted Mada. He had led them through many difficult situations, even uncovered the Sanctuaries where they had taken refuge. Together with the Krag, they were the indisputable leaders of the Resistance and Soren needed that trust now if he were to defend them.

He took a deep breath and cleared his throat quietly. With a few final adjustments to what he wanted to say in his head, Soren began.

"The Sith are coming," he said, watching mouths bend into frowns and brows furrow into knots. 

"Lord Freasch has discovered our position and is marching on the Sanctuary as we speak." he relayed sternly. "Given the information we have, we can estimate his arrival at the Main Gate within 6 hours."

The private sitting at the control panel beside him gulped audibly and the news sent visible shivers up his spine. They weren't ready for this. 

"This is all Erik's fault!" someone shouted from the crowd of soldiers.

"That slime led them right to us!" another chimed in.

"We should never have let him back in," said a third all too loudly.

A tumult erupted as the Danislans began calling for Erik's head, boisterously shouting insults, one after the other as though a disease had spread through their ranks. Soren knew exactly what this sickness was called - hatred. It was a weapon the Sith often wielded against their enemies, taunting them and sowing chaos in their ranks but he couldn't have that.

"Enough," he said rather forcefully, staring down the ones who'd started the uproar. "This is not Erik's fault," he said clearly and emphatically.

"The Imperials have access to the National Archives in Caralis. They must have uncovered the Danislan Land Registry as I once did and discovered this Sanctuary's location. They have satellites and starships performing orbital scans hourly, it stands to reason we would eventually be discovered. I just hoped it wouldn't be this soon..." Soren lied convincingly. 

He saw the fire in the soldiers wither as their displaced anger was tempered by his words. They needed unity if there was any hope of surviving more than a few hours of the battle. They needed to channel their hatred towards the Sith and Soren was more than capable of winding them up if necessary.

"Lord Freasch marches with his own personal vanguard of 786 Imperial troopers and half the 216th Imperial Regiment's third battalion of at least 1,232 men, not including support personnel," Soren relayed frankly. "The Sanctuary is a good defensive position but they have advanced artillery and aerial support which means we cannot leave the confines of the base without unnessecary risk."

It was quiet now, deathly quiet as Soren spoke.

"The troops are being led by his Apprentice Jarwyn while Lord Freasch himself rides at the front with a horde of dark creatures of his own creation. They will tear through us and take our families away for their sick experiments if we don't stand together. They are the true enemy we must defeat if we have any hope of surviving," Soren lied. There was no hope, but they didn't know that. He watched the fire in the soldiers' eyes rekindle with a new hatred as he spoke.

"As of right now, we are on red alert. Your orders are to defend the Sanctuary at all costs, beginning with the evacuation of civilians into the lower levels for their protection." He raised a hand to split the room into sections. 

"Take your wives, husbands, sons and daughters, father, mothers, elderly and injured and find them shelter beneath Besh 3. Anyone who is not prepared to die in defense of the Sanctuary should be moved into the lower levels," the false lieutenant commanded. "Once they're secure, report back to Sergeant Tulsey or Sergeant Forgan for individual assignment."

The Danislans nodded and yessired in fractured unison, hurriedly shuffling out of the War Room to carry out his orders. The rest remained fervently attentive and eager to receive instruction on how best to protect their loved ones.

"Engineering and maintenance, I want the main energy shield generator up and running. I want all the turrets we have, tested and calibrated. I want security systems online and ready for inspection. Prepare for lockdown in three hours." He nodded to Corporal Dunhas who was their chief engineer. 

The grim, broad-set Corporal already had his sleeves rolled up as if born to meddle with machines and mechanisms. He turned about and began picking men out from the crowd to assist him in carrying out Mada's orders. They quickly trickled out of the War Room to dutifully ready the base.

"Artillery is to be dispensed according to Gunnery Sergeant Advis' prerogative. I want each man armed with at least one blaster. Rifles and assault cannons are limited to those with enough experience to wield them."

"Snipers are to form up by the upper western entrance on Aurek 1 and await inspection, you'll be nested in the forest above the Main Gate. Report to Specialist Korshot once you're ready to move out."

"Demolitions, gather all the explosive material we have and move them up to the hangar on Aurek 1. I want a complete inventory by the time all the civilians have been secured. Staff Sergeant Rinda is charge," Soren instructed.

Not a soul dared argue. The Danislans quickly divided themselves into prospective groups and set about their respective tasks. Those remaining were mainly support personnel, intelligence officers and SIS agents. Soren spotted each and every one of them in the dispersing crowd, making prolonged eye contact to make sure they noticed.

"We need a better picture of our enemy's location and arrangement. Technicians, slice into the Imperial networks and take what we need. Orbital scans, aerial shots, com chatter, anything that will help us pinpoint Freasch's position. I don't care if they know it's us. If we can take him down, we can _take away their General,"_ he emphasized those last words for the benefit of the agents in the room and nodded his head slightly.

They understood. Soren shot a glance at Heliphar, Blanx, Tump'lew and Vorn. They all reciprocated with a silent nod. He casually turned to glimpse Indris, Pel'kas, Dorutt, Jimsho and Cranet on the other side of the room and gave them a tiny nod too, pretending to engage with the remaining Danislans.

"The upper eastern entrance has been secured thanks to the tireless work of Privates Bordis and Holrun so we need to focus on the western exits that lead out into the Julanti Plains where Freasch will no doubt lead his forces," Soren subtly insinuated to the agents listening.

"Finally, I want six scouts to circle around the Plains and keep us updated in case Freasch decides to sneak by, even though a frontal assault is the most likely plan of attack," Soren continued, watching the SIS agents slip out of the room. "And I want each one of them equipped with a detonite charge in case they get caught."

"Tulsey, Forgan. I'll brief you privately. The rest of you, carry out your orders." Soren put a hand on the shoulder of the officer sitting beside him and the young man obediently nodded and lowered the platform so that Lieutenant Mada could alight.

The two Sergeants saluted him as he stepped out and Soren led them out of the War Room. He would brief them as they walked.


	24. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Resistance prepare for battle as Lord Freasch's army approaches, fortifying their defenses within and without of the Sanctuary.

Sergeants Tulsey and Forgan dogged Lieutenant Mada's footsteps as he made his way across Aurek 1 inspecting the limited equipment they had managed to smuggle out of Caralis or steal from the Imperials over the last three years. He diligently assessed the numbers and capabilities of each stockpile before dispensing orders to the two Sergeants who worriedly yessired his commands, grateful it was, not in fact, one of _them_ leading the Resistance against the Imperial forces.

"What is it, Tulsey?" Soren asked, examining a pile of detonators and comparing it to the checklist on the datapad he had been given by Staff Sergeant Rinda.

"Uh, nothing, sir," replied the tall man, his brow furrowed despite himself.

"If you hold your opinions in any longer Sergeant, I'm afraid you might burst," Soren noted without looking up from the datapad.

Tulsey sighed and looked over at Forgan whose short, stout frame gave him a relatively rounded appearance despite his being rather thin. The second Sergeant raised an eyebrow at him, wondering what could have his colleague riled up enough to question leadership. Not even the looming threat of the Sith was enough to break the chain of command which the Danislan Guard prized so highly.

"It's about Captain Delwitt..." Tulsey murmurred.

"You're worried we're missing our best warriors and the single Jedi who could have stood up to Lord Freasch?" Soren contemplated, walking over to a suspiciously large pile of blastoplast bricks.

"What if they return to find we've locked down the base? They'll be stuck and the rains..." Tulsey bemoaned.

"The rains would be the least of their problems," Soren replied frankly, looking up from the datapad. 

"We don't have much choice, Sergeant. We can't leave our flank open on the off-chance the Krag's strike-team will return ahead of schedule and there's no way to signal them without giving away their position to the Imperials. I'm afraid making contact would only ensure their demise," Soren reasoned.

Tulsey hesitated. He was so used to Captain Delwitt's debonaire courage in the face of adversity, the devotion and loyalty to his soldiers above all else that inspired so many in the Resistance, that he found the Lieutenant's logical and reasoned approach to leadership uncomfortably different in contrast. Was it always like this? The two of them on such different wavelengths? Surely, the Lieutenant ought to be at least a little bit more concerned for the wellbeing of his friend?

As if he'd read his mind, the Lieutenant turned to look at him and said "I haven't forgotten about the Captain, Tulsey. We'll do what we can for them but right now I have to defend this base to the best of my ability. That's what he would want."

The Sergeant considered his words and felt the plausibility of their meaning relax his troubled thoughts. There were far more important things to worry about right now than the Captain's safety. They were defending the lives of so many people that it was almost trivial to consider how the Captain would return to the Sanctuary, particularly if it was overrun by the Imperials. Besides, he had a Jedi with him. What could go wrong?

The Lieutenant finished inspecting the stockpile of explosives and returned the datapad to Staff Sergeant Rinda, leaving instructions to set up outside the Main Gate. The men began lifting and shifting and moving about the crates as Rinda barked for them to treat the flammables with care.

Soren moved into the hangar on the western-most side of the Sanctuary. High above them, the Parretal Forest ended abruptly as a tall cliff opened up onto the Julanti Plains. The rocky cliffside acted as a facade to the Main Gate, covering the door to the hangar in which they now stood.

Once, sky-ships had ferried supplies in from the capital, landing on the flat plane and wheeling into the Sanctuary as the gate was pulled back to reveal the cavernous hangar. But that was a long time ago.

"Open the gate," Soren ordered as the Danislans milled about in preparation of their mounting defenses.

Several soldiers endeavoured to carry out the order simultaneously, crowding around the control terminal in the corner. Finally, an eager Private managed to wrestle the controls away from his peers and activate the mechanism.

Everyone moved away as the Gate groaned and slowly swung backwards towards the inside of the Sanctuary, gradually rising to replace the ceiling and plunge them into a semi-twilight. 

Soren didn't move, watching the 200 meter long durasteel slab ascend in front of him, almost brushing the tip of his nose, its rocky underside becoming visible as it passed eye level. He didn't wait for it to reach the top, marching across the hangar and out into the empty plain as soon as it cleared his head. 

The two sergeants hurried after him as he walked briskly into the night. It wasn't as dark as it had been at the upper eastern entrance given the lack of trees but Soren noted the rain clouds in the sky. That did not bode well but perhaps the lack of sunlight in the morning would give them an advantage.

He heard one of the Sergeants stumble behind him, evidently locating an upturned rock with his foot before his eyes could adjust. Soren stopped so he could catch up, examining the future battlefield with a keen eye.

The flat of the Julanti Plains stretched into the distance which meant they would see their enemy coming from afar, even without scouts. To his right, the Julanti mountain range sprang up from the cliffside and grew into the distant east where it joined Mt Foane in a collection of jagged fangs, gnawing at the sky. On the pitifully small chance that Kallig had received his message and decided to comply, she would need to circle all the way around the mountains to get to Freasch and Soren calculated that there simply wasn't enough time.

He needed to concentrate on the here and now. 

They had the higher ground. If he positioned his troops on top of the cliff they could pick off the beasts Freasch would unleash without having to make contact. The natural protection of the mountain range on their right was encouraging and opened up several possibilities, both defensive and offensive. The only real weakness would be an aerial bombardment or an attack on their left flank which was exposed but at the same time covered by the forest.

Soren turned around to behold the great maw which had opened up in the cliffside, revealing the hangar within. His eyes scanned the dark forest high above, instinctively searching for advantageous sniper positions. He considered several different scenarios, playing them out in his head and fighting the urge to cross his arms and brush his lip with his thumb as he often did while thinking but Lieutenant Mada wouldn't do such things.

He would take out his datapad and begin writing down observations, a mannerism which Soren endeavoured to copy. He began jotting down the mental mapping of his strategy and quietly tapped at the device while the two Sergeants fumbled in the dark.

Watcher 66 had sent him a dossier on Lord Freasch and his Apprentice, detailing the Sith's activities on Danisla, his intentions, his actions and most importantly, his men. Even if they managed to somehow defeat Freasch and his monsters, there was the Imperial troops and Jarwyn to deal with and they were coming in such numbers that the remaining pittance of Danislan soldiers would simply be overwhelmed. But Soren's goal was not to win. The Castellan Restraints had taken hold of his mind, morphing his strategy from one of victory to one of postponement. He would delay Freasch for as long as it took the SIS agents to be evacuated and by then, it wouldn't matter.

Soren completed the layout on his datapad and transmitted the information to Sergeant Tulsey and Forgan. It would guide their preparations when the civilians were all safely below ground and the rest of the soldiers returned.

"I've sent you the plans, make sure everything is set up as I've described," he said, putting away the datapad.

"Yes, sir." The Sergeants saluted as he walked past.

They followed him back into the Sanctuary where Soren checked the time and looked around to see if there was anything he forgot to assign. Satisfied that all was on schedule for the moment he turned to Tulsey and Forgan and asked "Any questions?"

The two looked at each other quizzically and then at the Lieutenant, whose tanned skin grew darker with the shade of his military cap.

"No, I think that's all we need for now, sir," Forgan replied.

"We'll get started on the preparations, right away," Tulsey nodded.

"Good. I have a few more things to do. I'll be back at 0200 hours for final checks before lockdown."

"Very well, sir." Tulsey nodded again.

"Carry on." Soren turned to venture back into the Sanctuary.

There were still a dozen SIS agents he needed to warn. They had to leave before the lockdown or risk being trapped inside with him. He left the hangar and navigated past the busy soldiers diligently carrying out his orders and made his way through the maze-like passages of Aurek 1 to the Main Atrium.

It was oddly quiet in the vast hall despite the increased military presence. Soren never realized just how much ambient noise came from the Danislans talking about their inane lives which had barely any variation from day to day. He understood the importance of social interaction in stressful situations but he still preferred solitude unlike the chatty locals who relished every word of a conversation.

Even their music was boisterous and haphazardly put together. Lyrics often changed with each round of ale and the melody morphed from one song to another in a fashion as drunken as the tone-deaf Danislans who partook in the impromtu sing-a-long sessions conducted in the Mess Hall. 

It cut at Soren's ear whenever he heard their off-key drivel and he had to fight through gritted teeth to smile and pretend to enjoy himself. At least if the Sith killed him, he'd never have to listen to another rendition of "What's under the Parretal Forest?" ever again. It was almost worth it.

He crossed the tiled floor and side-stepped around the abandoned market stalls, heading towards the turbolifts at the far end.

"Give you? A blaster?" guffawed a Danislan soldier from across the Atrium. "Over my dead body, traitor!"

Soren spotted the trouble up ahead as a group of armed Danislan Guards encircled a man and spewed abuse in his face.

"You're already half-dead, maybe you should just put the barrel straight in your mouth, eh?" another soldier jeered.

"I want to help," a familiar voice wheezed. "If the Sith are coming..."

"You want to go say _'hello'_ to your little Imp buddies? Is that it?"

"Don't worry, they'll be here soon," another soldier assured him with an unpleasant chuckle.

Soren approached silently, linking his hands behind his back.

"Gentlemen," he said, watching them jump in surprise as they heard the Lieutenant's voice. 

"What's going on here?" he asked sternly, head held high.

"Uh, Lieutenant?" one of them turned to face Soren. "We were just..."

"Insulting the man who risked his life to bring us crucial information which could potentially prolong the life of the Resistance for another rainy season?" he finished for him. "I thought so."

The soldier gulped, painfully aware that Mada had been listening to his conversation. The rest of them looked away awkwardly, incapable of disagreeing with the Lieutenant.

"What's your name?" Soren narrowed his eyes.

"Private Hender Yulan, sir," the strapping young man replied nervously.

"And what are your orders, Private?" 

"To distribute blasters for Gunnery Sergeant Advis, sir."

"Then perhaps you should continue your duties..." Soren suggested with a small tilt of the head, characteristic of Mada's behaviour.

"Uh, yessir," Hender saluted and walked over to pick up the crate of weapons he'd thrown open. His friends followed, picking up equipment and spreading out through the Atrium's cavernous breadth to distribute weapons to the rest of the soldiers.

Soren waited for them to leave, watching the uniformed soldiers disperse their intimidating circle to reveal the shivering, ragged form of Erik Serth. 

He looked terrible. Despite being freshly showered and clothed, he bore all the hallmarks of a sick man. Dark rings around his eyes, a yellow tinge to his skin and a collection of fading bruises each of a different hue, not to mention the weary look on his face.

"What are you doing here, Erik?" Soren asked the pitiful Human.

"I want to help..." he began.

"You're nursing a cardiac arrest and a collection of Imperials beatings and you want to help?" Soren asked a little sarcastically. "You'll end up the first casualty before the battle even begins..."

"We're not going to make it, anyway. Are we?" Erik murmured.

He watched Mada's good humour fade away as he frowned, his brown eyes growing dark and serious. He put a hand on Erik's back and moved them under the cover of an abandoned market stall, out of view and earshot of the soldiers and holocams.

"I've scouted Freasch's camp before, Lieutenant. I know what's coming for us," he swallowed. "We don't stand a chance. Even if we had the Captain and Vae'lo..."

"I'll admit, the chances of survival are slim," Soren rounded up optimistically. 

Erik possessed an intellect and rationality that many of his Danislan countrymen lacked and was not so easily spoon-fed lies by the cunning Chiss.

"Why don't we run?" he asked, looking up at Mada sadly.

"We wouldn't get far," Soren replied. "There are too many of us to move, not enough vehicles. Even if the soldiers stay here and the refugees leave, Freasch will hunt them down. It would be a slaughter," he explained. "We don't have enough supplies to withstand a siege for very long. If we let them surround us, we're dead. If we try to leave, we're dead. If we try to fight..."

The lieutenant looked away absently.

"If only we could surrender..." he pondered quietly.

"You want to surrender?" Erik hissed, the words like poison on his tongue.

"It's the only scenario in which everyone could survive," Mada shook his head. "It doesn't matter, the Imperials don't negotiate and Freasch wants test subjects, not prisoners..."

They stood silently for a moment, contemplating the inevitability of their doom, searching for options but coming to the same conclusions. Erik could see Mada had already considered almost every strategy and come up short, putting on a brave face for the Danislans when in fact he knew this would likely be the end of the Resistance. Perhaps surrender wouldn't be so bad?

"What if we could surrender to someone who isn't Freasch?" Erik spoke softly.

Soren's eyes shifted to the battered Human, his thick brown hair throwing shade over his face. 

"You mean Lord Kallig?" he followed his train of thought. 

"She offered me amnesty," Erik jumped to defend himself from Mada's judgemental gaze. "She would accept our surrender."

"She's a Sith, Erik. You can't know that for sure. She could just as easily hand us over to Freasch and leave Danisla as swiftly as she came," Soren reasoned. "Besides, if she's still at Mt Foane, we could never reach her in time."

"You said Gavin was going up there to investigate, maybe he could pass on a message..."

"He's been gone over twelve hours, Erik. There's been no word from him. I'm afraid he may no longer be with us."

Soren watched the hope flicker out in Erik's eyes as he swallowed his fear. A heavy wave of dread washed over the poor man, pulling him down to lean on the nearby table. 

"I'm sorry, Erik," Soren told him. He was undeniably linked to the causality of the events that were about to pass but he had done his duty. The General was secure. The refugees were expendible, all that mattered now was evacuating the SIS agents. Soren felt the pull of the Castellan Restraints stinging his mind as they willed him to abandon this mess of a Human and press on with his task.

"I have to go..." he said, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Erik grabbed his arm. "I still want to help," he said, his eyes determined and alive once more. "You need every man you can get and I want to defend my family, even if it kills me."

Soren sighed.

"Fine." He walked out from their hiding place and approached Private Yulan. 

"Get this man a blaster," he said, pointing to Erik.


	25. Saying Goodbye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren continues searching the base for the remaining SIS agents and finds Dr Haldis in the Infirmary.

Soren entered the Infirmary just as the last of the remaining patients were hovered out in transport cots to be moved into the deeper levels of the Sanctuary. Dr Bellra Haldis was still packing up as much of her equipment as she could, eager to follow her patients down below and continue their care. She blew an exasperated breath at the long lock of blonde hair that had escaped the custody of her hair-tie and lifted a large crate with a grunt.

She froze when she saw Lieutenant Mada shaking the hand of an injured soldier. Her eyes widened and she almost dropped the med-kit she was holding. 

"L-Lieutenant. What are you doing down here?" Bellra stammered as he approached her, brown eyes glistening under his military cap. "Shouldn't you be preparing for..."

Mada pressed a finger to his lips, signalling her to stop speaking. He linked his hands behind his back and calmly waited for the rest of the patients to be removed from the Infirmary by medical droids. Bellra set down the heavy med-kit and straightened up as MD-203 approached her.

"All patients have been evacuated, Doctor Haldis," it droned. "My programming suggests we follow them immediately to continue providing care and prevent potential loss of life."

"Noted," Haldis replied. "Follow the patients to Besh 7 and make sure they arrive safely."

"Yes, Doctor," the droid vocabulated and filed out of the Infirmary with the rest of the automated nurses.

Haldis followed, waiting for them to shuffle out before closing and locking the door behind the procession of medical droids. She took a deep breath and turned around to see Mada fiddling with his datapad. The holocams on the walls suddenly drooped and deactivated and Bellra sighed in relief. 

They could speak freely.

Soren put the datapad away and turned to face Dr Haldis as she returned. Bellra moved in far closer than was necessary and hugged him tight.

"I thought I was never going to see you again," she whispered.

Soren touched her shoulders, trying to gently push her away but she moved in to lock onto his lips in a passionate kiss. Her hands spread through his hair, disrupting the holographic projection of Nordren Mada and he made himself return her affection. This had to seem natural. He kissed her back with just enough warmth for it to be real, hoping it would be enough to satiate her need for intimacy just long enough for him to speak but it didn't. She ripped open his coat and let her hands rake over his chest, reaching for his pants, uninterested in conversation.

That's when Soren broke off the kiss and caught her hands before they unbuckled his belt.

"We can't..." he whispered. "You need to leave." The holographic facade returned to his Human form.

"What?"

"I found the General, he's been evacuated," he told her.

"That's- That's excellent news," she brightened.

"You need to get out," he said. "All SIS agents are to evacuate through the upper eastern entrance and rendezvous at the extraction point. You'll be transported to a safe zone as soon as they get the General off-world."

"But the refugees..."

"There's no time. You need to leave before Freasch gets here."

"But they'll be slaughtered..."

"Our mission is complete. What happens to the Resistance is no longer your concern," he said sternly.

Bellra sighed and looked down at her feet. It was true. The SIS was only helping the Resistance while they searched for Holke. Once he was found, detestable though it was, she had to leave them to their fate.

"Alright, let's go," she said, pulling him towards the door.

Soren frowned and let go of her arms.

"My orders are to remain here and defend the base," he said.

"What?" she gasped. "Why?"

"Kothe needs a distraction while you're being evacuated. The battle will keep Freasch's attention on the Danislans, long enough for you to escape."

"But you'll..."

Soren smiled at her reassuringly. 

"I'll be fine," he said. 

All these Republic girls needed was a little hope and a smile to get them moving but Bellra shook her head. 

"No, you won't. I've seen what Freasch does to people..." she gagged, raising a hand to cover up her mouth. "It's horrible..."

"Well, I guess there'll be one less Imperial for the Republic to worry about..." he tried to reassure her.

Bellra looked up at him through budding tears but there was no fear or sadness in Mada's face. She reached up a hand to stroke his cheek, breaking the holo to reveal his sapphire skin and glowing red eyes. He wasn't afraid to die. 

"You're not an Imperial. You're an SIS agent and I love you," she kissed him again.

Soren felt the tears spilling down her cheeks as she pressed her warm lips against him and cried in their final embrace. He let it happen, let himself ease into the kiss and brush a hand up her pale neck. Anything she needed to make it bearable.

When they finally separated, she sniffed away her tears, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. 

Bellra sighed as she straightened up and looked at him again.

"I don't even know your name," she said.

"And you never will." He smiled kindly. 

"Go on," he nodded towards the door.

She opened her mouth to speak but there was nothing more to be said. It was over. She took a deep breath and turned to leave.

Soren could hear her trying to contain her weeping, the abnormal breathing pattern as she walked towards the door, her sinuses clogged, shoulders quivering. He watched her go. She didn't look back. 

He pulled out his datapad and checked the time. He had exactly 28 minutes to make three more of these stops before final preparations at the Main Gate. He was on schedule.


	26. Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren takes command of the Resistance as they face off againt Lord Freasch.

A lonely melody played through his earpiece as Soren stood to attention watching the horizon from inside the Main Gate, flanked by a hundred soldiers, armed and ready for battle.

The melancholy notes of a bellario drifted through him in soft trills, the work of some many-fingered alien from the aqueous planet of Lorapheuil, hundreds of lightyears away. Trancedently beautiful and almost eerie, Soren let himself privately enjoy the final moment of peace with his favourite sonata, his back to his men.

There was nothing he shared with them. Not his name, not his origins, nor his ideals or dreams or even goals. He wondered what they would think if he revealed his true face at that very moment and the thought made him want to smile. One look at the blue-skinned alien with burning red eyes and the Danislans would scream _'Demon!'_ , their weapons turned on the so-called Lieutenant they had so reverently sworn to protect just minutes ago.

Soren suddenly realized that the Sith had gone about conquering the Danislans all wrong. There was no need to rain bombs on their cities, massacre their civilians and enslave the populace. A little Force-lightning and levitation would have quickly cemented the Sith Lords as deities among the Danislans and the Imperials would need little more than rudimentary diplomatic skills to take advantage of the gullible natives.

All of this could have been avoided if the Sith had actually talked to anybody instead of reaching for their lightsabers and unleashing their overbearing armies. What a waste of resources. And lives for that matter.

Soren frowned. His dark thoughts had overshadowed the music he had been trying to enjoy and he was about to restart the playback on his earpiece when he glimpsed a dark blot on the horizon. He quickly switched it off and activated his comlink.

 _"Korshot, do you have a visual?"_ he asked the sniper's nest he had hidden atop the Main Gate in the leafy cover of the forest.

 _"A-affirmative, sir,"_ Korshot replied. _"How did you-"_

 _"How many do you see?"_ Soren asked without letting him finish.

_"Uh, it's hard to tell when they run like that..."_

_"A rough estimate will do."_

_"Around three hundred, sir,"_ Korshot audibly estimated.

 _"How wide is the spread?"_ Soren asked.

_"Around half a klik."_

There was silence on Soren's end of the comm as the writhing horde entered his field of vision. Each creature, a twisted mixture of several corpses stretched and pulled and sewn onto animals whose bodies had no place for Human limbs. Black veins spidered over bleached skin and hide, superfluous appendages flapping uselessly as the monstrosities galloped on mismatched legs in horrific limping undulations.

Lord Freasch had been almost as interested in the local wildlife as the Ithorians but for very different reasons. Convinced that his dark powers were somehow amplified on Danisla, the zealous Sith set about creating hybrids from some of the more deadly creatures the planet had to offer, including Humans. It was difficult to gauge whether he had been entirely successful in this enterprise but Soren felt himself frown in disgust as the first wave became visible.

The sky was still overcast and the rest of the Danislans could not make out the creatures in detail but the sound of tortured moaning and groaning carried across the empty plains as well as any cavern. The soldiers began shifting uncomfortably behind their Lieutenant, eyeing the giant dead Klawhorn that was lying just outside the Main Gate, its guts spilled as a lure for the creatures coming to kill them.

 _"They're spread too far,"_ Soren said finally.

He switched the frequency, _"Rinda, you're certain the mines are laid out as I described?"_

 _"Yessir,"_ he replied. _"Your plans were very... thorough."_

 _"Good,"_ Soren switched back to Korshot.

 _"Are you in position?"_ Soren asked, pulling out his datapad. He had placed the specialist directly on top of him.

_"Affirmative."_

_"Aim for the coordinates I'm sending you,"_ he flicked at the screen. _"Hold for my signal."_

There was a muffled clicking through the comlink as Specialist Korshot readjusted the scope and shifted his sniper rifle into position.

 _"I have the target in my sights, sir,"_ he reported. _"But there's nothing there. The nearest bogey is coming up 50 metres to my right."_

 _"Hold,"_ Soren told him, taking out his macrobinoculars.

He watched the stampede of grotesque homunculi race across the Julanti Plains, mouths frothing at the distant smell of Klawhorn carcass which the Resistance had laid out in front of their base. Korshot was right, there were around three hundred rearing ahead, the leftmost veering half a kilometer off course. They were going to need a gentle push in the right direction.

 _"Rinda,"_ Soren switched frequencies. _"Arm the mine at Dorn-10."_

There was a moment of adjustment before the sergeant replied _"It's done."_

Soren peered down the macrobinoculars again. The beasts had just run past the edge of the mountain range approximately 3 kilometers away.

Just a little further...

 _"Corporal Dunhas,"_ Soren spoke into the comlink. _"Are you ready?"_

 _"As we'll ever be,"_ he replied. _"I still think we should be out there, sir."_

 _"You're most useful where you are, Corporal."_ Soren reassured him, switching frequencies again.

_"Korshot, what's your status?"_

_"I'm still on target but a light wind is pickin' up,"_ the sniper replied.

 _"With a chance of rain, you think?"_ Soren joked, attempting to similate Mada's sense of humour.

_"Well, I'm no meterologist, sir."_

_"Well, I don't need one right now. Get ready to fire on my command."_

_"Yessir,"_ the comlink went deadly silent as Korshot leaned into position.

Soren put the macrobinoculars back up to his eyes, the beasts were two kilometers away. Korshot was right, a wind was picking up and carrying the foul stench of rotting carcass in through the Main Gate. Soren heard a few mumbles about the smell behind him but kept his eyes on the rangefinder reading.

1500 metres.

He watched the reading tick down as the swarm approached. 1400 metres. The stench of rotting flesh became increasingly foul and it wasn't the dead Klawhorn in front of him. 1300 metres. An unnatural wailing permeated the early morning as the creatures cried out in anticipation of untainted meat. 1200 metres. Soren glanced up at the horizon to see a second wave already following the one they were about to encounter. 1100 m. He focused on the creatures in front of him, aware of his mind trying to rush ahead.

_"Korshot."_

1050 metres.

_"Now."_

The shot rang out across the plain, hitting home on the armed mine and setting the morning alight with dancing flames. The explosion burst through the din with a thundering roar, sending soil and nearby creatures flying in a fountain of grit before releasing a large cloud of smoke. The wind carried it toward the mountains on their right and obscured the view of the approaching stampede but Soren could tell it had the desired effect.

_"Korshot, what's your spotter say?"_

_"They're banking right towards the Main Gate now,"_ the specialist replied worriedly.

 _"Good,"_ Soren acknowledged, switching frequencies. _"Rinda, arm every alternate mine in rows Leth and Mern."_

 _"Yes, sir,"_ he heard the reply and switched frequencies again.

 _"Dunhas, stand by on the energy shield,"_ Soren relayed.

 _"Ready, sir,"_ came the reply.

Soren let his hand drop, the macrobinoculars weren't necessary to see the approaching horde from this distance. They hobbled closer at an alarming speed, funnelling towards the Main Gate where their prize awaited them. Freasch had obviously set them loose to test the waters but Soren had no plans to reveal his tricks so soon.

A thundering roar chained into a calamatous crackling of explosions as the second wave of beasts hit the mines Rinda had just armed. They were primitive weapons, each with a range of only 200 metres but quite effective when the enemy was stupid enough to run at them side-by-side. Staff Sergeant Rinda had arranged them in a grid-like pattern outside the Main Gate and sat at the controls somewhere far above them. He could arm the mines remotely but unfortunately the last batch of detonators they had were faulty and the explosives had to be triggered manually.

The row of detonated mines sent a shower of soil and severred limbs into the air to rain down upon the first wave of creatures, speeding them ever forward towards Soren as he stood fast at the Main Gate.

He observed casually as the nightmarish horde galloped towards him. Thick black quadrupeds, scaly and spined, covered with remnants of Human beings, sewn into the flesh with pulsating black threads of corruption. Bipedal avians with Human arms and heads, bleached and crusted with sunrot, bobbing appallingly with every step. Some giant reptilian exoskeleton had been welded to two seperate Human torsos which scuttled towards them sideways.

"Feurgh," Soren heard himself whisper in disgust. This was definitely in the top ten the grossest things he'd seen during his time with the Empire.

 _"What was that?"_ Dunhas spoke over the comlink.

 _"Nothing, stand by,"_ Soren replied.

He turned back to look at two soldiers holding giant lengths of rope which spanned the length of the Main Gate and threaded through side entrances to connect to the Klawhorn carcass outside.

"Reel it in," Soren told them and they began pulling on the rope. Its extent quickly tightened, dragging the Klawhorn closer towards them.

The Danislans could see the horde clearly now and all of them raised their weapons, instinctively aimed at the nightmarish ghouls that were almost upon them.

Soren calculated their speed to range from 20-40 km/h but the variance seemed to matter little, those who were too slow to keep up were trampled underfoot by the larger specimens who continued on course.

 _"Hit it,"_ Soren spoke into the comlink and Dunhas instantly reacted with a flick of a switch somewhere down in the maintenance section of the Sanctuary.

A shimmering wall of red light blazed over the opening of the Main Gate, just outside the Klawhorn carcass. Without slowing or stopping, the creatures blundered head first into the blistering embrace of the plasma barrier and desintegrated into ashes, their momentum carrying them forward even as they watched their predecessors vanish into nothing.

Soren stood watching the creatures destroy themselves against the barrier, counting each one as it atomized.

 _"Two hundred and eighty six, two hundred and eighty seven,"_ he thought to himself as the last of them smashed against the energy field.

His eyes scanned through the red sheen to confirm that it was indeed the last creature and spoke into the comlink.

_"Kill it."_

_"Yes, sir."_ Dunhas growled and the energy shield disappeared, revealing the twilight of the early overcast morning beyond.

Soren spied the billowing clouds of smoke that were still lingering where the mines had exploded and killed the second wave of creatures. The wind appeared to have died away, leaving them drifting in the middle of the Plains, obscurring the enemy from view.

Soren frowned.

No visual on the enemy but neither did the enemy have a visual on them. The pros and cons of a smokescreen. Soren was cautious, careful with his arrangement and his men but Freasch didn't have to be. He wasn't sacrificing troops to defeat them, he was throwing waves of half-dead homunculi at the base to see how many he needed to break through. Like a test, an experiment.

 _"Well, if at first you don't succeed, try two more times so that your failure is statistically significant,"_ Soren thought to himself and sure enough a third wave of creatures cleared the smoke and hurtled towards the Main Gate where the Klawhorn carcass still lay enticingly.

 _"Stand by,"_ Soren uttered into the comlink and heard Corporal Dunhas acknowledge.

He observed passively as a third stream of grotesquely mismatched monstrosities mowed over the exploded corpses of their peers. They were similarly put together. Haphazard. Thoughtless. Brash. All the hallmarks of a Sith Apprentice, yet unlearned in the subtleties of such work and technique. It would explain the mindless instinct they displayed as they...

_"Hit it."_

The brilliant red energy shield flared to life just as the head of a creature passed through, severing the unwanted appendage from the body as it was desintegrated against the barrier. The head fell to the ground and rolled into the side of the Klawhorn carcass, its face contorted in death throes and silent screams.

Soren stared at it, trying to recognize the face. It could have been anyone really. Erik, Gavin, Kraglus, Vae'lo, Tulsey, Forgan, Rinda, Korshot, Kesho, Dunhas, Roban, Soren...

He suddenly imagined the glee on Freasch's face as he discovered a Chiss among the dead, ripe for dissection. It did little to boost his spirits to think that pieces of him would be sewn onto whatever the psychotic Sith Lord fancied the look of. Perhaps he should have requisitioned a plasma grenade, just to make sure there would be nothing left of him when he went down.

The steady hum of desintegrating flesh ceased as the last creature swatted itself into the plasma and Soren waited a few seconds to make sure it was truly the last.

 _"Turn it off,"_ he relayed to Dunhas, who obediently switched the energy shield generator to stand by. They only had a limited amount of power and Soren didn't want to waste a drop. The element of surprise would serve them well as they continued the fight and he needed as much time as he could squeeze out of the battle.

The smoke from the mines had begun to clear as a light wind picked up and carried it into the far-reaching crags of the mountains. Soren looked through his macrobinoculars again, scanning the horizon for enemies and sure enough a bright red blade burned in the hand of a robed warrior astride an enourmous creature he didn't recognise.

Lord Freasch sat resplendant in a elegant ensemble of mauve and crimson, his head protected by a tri-horned helmet of rigid, intimidating frame. Black armoured pauldrons curved into spiky claws on his shoulders and his eyes glowed as red as his lightsaber.

His steed was thrice the height of an average man, its rough hide bleached white but still reminiscent of a Rancor, perhaps hybridized with a Reek, given the two large cheek horns and head crest. Similar to the ones on Freasch's helmet.

Surrounding him was an army of creatures he had obviously assembled himself. Soren felt like he was watching a man show off his prized collection of homemade toys. Proud, arrogant, overconfident and incredibly intimidating to the Danislans who'd grown to fear the unrelenting might of the Sith. With good reason, of course.

Soren doubted they could keep using the same trick over and over. The next wave of creatures lined up to attack looked much more complete than the shambled spare parts Jarwyn had glued together for his master.

Soren sighed quietly.

_"Now the real battle begins."_


	27. Best Laid Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soren and the Resistance continue the fight against Freasch with the help of some unlikely allies

Soren weighed the pros and cons of unleashing his nasty surprise a little earlier than planned. The number of monsters gathered around Freasch was considerably larger than the few hundred grotesques they'd managed to successfully neutralize. The overcast sky foreboded the beginnings of unending showers and if he didn't use it soon, then he'd lose the opportunity entirely.

 _"Mmm..."_ he thought to himself, watching Freasch wave his lightsaber through the macrobinoculars, obviously shouting something pretentious at the horde of monsters that could barely understand him.

He switched on his comlink. _"Korshot, what's the wind like up there?"_

_"Getting a light westerly now, sir,"_ the sniper replied. 

_"Alright, it's now or never,"_ Soren sighed, switching over to Rinda. _"Has the package been delivered to the Hive?"_

_"Yes, sir. The package is in position."_

_"Then I need you to arm the mines at Xesh 6 and 7."_

_"Alright,"_ he said with an audible pause. _"It's done."_

_"Good, get ready to blow the package. Wait for my signal."_ He switched again. 

_"Korshot, I've got two targets for you. I need you to hit 'em both at the same time."_

_"Roger that. Winsley's on point."_

There was a moment where Soren heard them getting into position, setting up to take the shot. He wished he could be up there himself, it was so much easier when all he had to do was point and shoot. He hated giving orders. His expectations were based on his own ability which usually set the bar pretty high and his hands itched whenever he wasn't in complete control. But he couldn't do everything himself, he needed to trust the Danislans, if only a fraction. 

The spotter on Korshot and Winsley spoke over the comlink, _"They're in position."_

_"Whenever they're ready,"_ Soren said, eyeing the horde through his macrobinoculars as Lord Freasch's long-winded speech to his minions came to a close. 

The shots rang out. Soren could hear the tiny dissonance but to the untrained ear it would appear as though only one had been fired if it could even be heard over the tumult. 

The mines went off in a crescendo of displaced earth and soil, just like the ones before them but with the addition of two geizers of yellow powder which spouted high into the air. The wind instantly caught them in its westerly breeze, carrying the pollen of the Bergoma plant towards Freasch's creatures. 

He could see very little through the smokey yellow haze, even with macrobinoculars, but he assumed they would have little defense against airbourne pathogens, not that he planned to infect anyone. 

Soren flicked the comlink onto an open channel so that all the Danislan soldiers could hear him. 

_"This is Lieutenant Mada,"_ he said. _"Everyone remain calm. We're about to get some help from the stink-flies. Please remain as still as possible while they pass overhead and refrain from making any unnecessary noise or movements."_ he smiled to himself. _"And enjoy the show."_

He switched the comlink over to Rinda. _"Blow the package."_

_"Yes, sir."_

Soren looked out over the plains again, trying to spy the horde through the yellowy haze and soon they appeared, covered in pollen, rushing towards them, much like the first three waves of ghouls they had been beset by. He heard a muffled boom in the distance as the brick of blastoplast blew open the Hive on the other side of the forest and waited. 

_'Stink-fly'_ was a misnomer, a little Danislan humour shining through the chaos of their ill-begotten world. The species of native hornet stretched up to two metres in length with a wicked stinger piercing its stripy red abdomen. Many an Imperial trooper had wandered into the forest, attracted by the sweet scent of their hive but it was nothing more than a lure. The smell of fermented corpses combined with the strange acidic juices secreted by the Danislan _stink-flies_ was used to attract their prey. 

Watcher 66 had relayed the unpleasant tale to Soren when he arrived on Danisla and he was curious to see if his little plan would work. The Ithorians had studied the stink-flies extensively, leaving behind detailed bio-analysis reports and files for Soren to peruse. And during one of Lieutenant Mada's inspections of Sanctuary storage, he discovered several sacks of Bergoma plant. Something he decided to bury with the mines as a lure, not for the Imperials, but for the stink-flies themselves. 

Freasch's creatures barreled ahead, unaffected by the pale yellow powder now attached to their far better constructed bodies. There were no useless flapping Human limbs sewn onto unsavoury places of mismatched animals as there had been on Jarwyn's attempted monstrosities. Lord Freasch had perfected his technique, blending, through some dark and mysterious power, two or more completely different creatures which could move with ease, the strongest parts of each combined to make the whole even stronger. 

Soren hoped he hadn't miscalculated the effectiveness of his stink-fly gambit as the improved beasts raced towards them at an even greater speed. The wind had effectively carried the pollen and attached it to the enemy. If the blastoplast had detonated correctly, the shell of the Hive should have been destroyed in the explosion, releasing a nest of angry hornets from beneath the ground. The putrid scent of Bergoma should send them into a frenzy and lead an angry swarm of giant insects towards the rapidly approaching enemy horde. 

_So where were they?_

He looked out over the plains, a hand steadily rose to rest on his hip, brushing his coat aside as Mada would do. He brought the macrobinoculars up to his eyes again and spied a quadrupedal mammal with long sharp claws and powerful legs bounding towards him. The creature's long, stout neck and head reared in an ugly snarl. But something about the eyes was off. They were far too small for its eye-sockets, black veins running down its yellow-powdered snout. Human eyes. 

Soren switched on the comlink again. _"Dunhas,"_ he said, _"prep the shield."_

It was taking too long. The stink-flies were nowhere to be seen and he'd rather lose the shield than any of his men this early in the battle. 

The smoke and pollen began to clear, swept away by the gusts of wind and soon the Danislans could see the unending stampede of dark creatures galloping towards them once again, blackening the ground and putrifying the air. 

Soren closed his eyes, concentrating on hearing the battle rather than seeing it. 

His own heartbeat was slow and steady, as expected. Behind him, one hundred men fidgeted with their weapons, shuffling nervously and whispering their goodbyes. Beside him, the tall emitters built into the Main Gate hummed quietly in anticipation of his command to raise the shield. Far ahead, a thousand or more creatures pounded the ground in haste, slobbering, growling, roaring, moaning, buzzing. 

_Buzzing?_

As far as he knew, Freasch believed himself to be of such a high stature that he did not concern himself with insects, both literally and figuratively. There was only one logical place the sound could be coming from. He opened his eyes to the growing hum of vibrating wings as the enemy approached the Main Gate. This was going to be close. He activated the comlink, ready to give the order to raise the shield but his words were left unspoken. 

The ground just outside the Main Gate darkened with the shadows of a hundred hundred winged bodies as the swarm flew over the forest and spilled onto the Julanti Plains, rapidly clearing the distance to the pollen smothered monsters racing towards them. 

Black and red, spiky and hard, the tightly-packed stink-fly bodies eclipsed the already overcast sky, huge antennae and mandibles wiggling and clicking as they detected the scent of Bergoma on the yellow-coated monstrosities on the ground. 

The sound of buzzing intensified, perforated by the squelching of flesh as hornet stingers and clawed feet eviscerated the incredibly varied and exotic combinations of creatures Freasch had sent their way. Size and shape mattered little as the stink-flies ganged up on problematic specimens, stabbing and slashing up their prey in fine unison, lapping up the pollen which turned into a sickly pale liquid in their mouths. 

Soren watched as one of the giant insects milling about the battlefield grew weary of fighting and simply lifted the hybrized reptilian lizard-hen it was pursuing into the air, rising high above them to drop it to its doom. The creature hit the ground with a snap and a crunch, spilling blackened blood and protruding bones and its predator quickly swooped in to suck up the Bergoma before the rest of the swarm could claim it. 

_"More effective than expected..."_ Soren thought to himself, wondering, daring even, to hope that maybe they might come out of this alive. A tiny smile worried his face but it was fleeting. Even if they managed to defeat the horde somehow, there was still Freasch himself, his apprentice and his army of Imperial troops. 

No, he was well and truly finished. At least he still had all his men. 

_For now._

The stink-flies did indeed provide an impressive show for the Danislans to enjoy. The kind that fed their vengeful spirits and raised their morale as many of their fellows had died at the paws and claws and jaws of their mutilated brothers and sisters, deformed beyond words into the monsters they now faced. Lord Freasch believed the Human mind to be superior to all others and used the brains of his victims as the basis for his experiments. 

Soren wondered who could have let him come to Danisla and reap the population for his own disgusting whims. Surely, an entire batallion was overkill for a planet of farmers and primitives. His forces could be used to far greater effect elsewhere. Did Darth Malgus know about this? 

He felt his mind running away from him again. There was a battle taking place right in front of his eyes and he still managed to get lost in his own thoughts. Soren shook his head, this wouldn't do. He needed to concentrate. 

He raised the macrobinoculars to his eyes again, passively observing the slaughter taking place. The stink-flies were certainly an effective aerial force but the swarm wasn't limitless and Freasch had come prepared. In the distance, Soren spied a number of avian creatures with an unnatural amount of furry legs, take wing and glide into the fray. As they drew closer, he could see the elongated, serrated beaks that protruded from their faces, foreboding an unpleasant demise to his unlikely allies. 

He was right. The eerie bird creatures made easy meals of the crunchy hornet carapaces and picked off the worst of the swarm as the rest were devoured and trampled by Freasch's unending circus of nightmares. Soren shook his head again. There were too many of them. It was hopeless. At least the stink-flies had bought them a little time. Perhaps the SIS transports had already landed? Maybe they were already flying away and his objective had been completed without his knowledge but the Castellan restraints didn't seem to think so. He felt the sting radiate through his head, compelling him to keep fighting, to keep up the charade. It was time to go on the offensive. 

Soren had deliberately opened the Main Gate to lure the bulk of Lord Freasch's forces into an area he could both defend and attack from, creating a bottle-neck at the entrance to the Sanctuary that was far more managable strategically than the wide, flat plains on which his monsters would have the advantage. And instead of attacking all at once with the full strength of his forces, the Sith had taken the bait and assumed the Main Gate was the only entrance to the Sanctuary and also where the bulk of the Resistance was located. 

This was not the case. 

The Sith Lord had also underestimated their armament and defenses, electing to send wave after wave of mindless creatures at them instead of deploying any kind of visible strategy. It was a technique the Sith often used to sow terror in the hearts of their enemies. The forces were never, in fact, endless but they were formidable enough to appear so and Freasch probably thought he was fighting some grassroots hick that grew up on Danisla. The only remaining officer that could take charge. But he wasn't dealing with Captain Delwitt or even Lieutenant Mada, Freasch was going head to head with Cipher 9 who'd seen all these tricks before and he most certainly was not impressed. 

Soren watched the last of the stink-flies perish as the rest of the swarm decided to cut their losses and fly back to the Hive with their stingers between their legs. In the distance, he could see the remaining creatures regrouping with much greater mental dexterity than he would have thought possible. 

Were they still intelligent? Or was Freasch controlling them with some weird Sith magic he couldn't account for? 

The latter seemed more likely as intelligence would probably cause dissent rather than obedience. 

_What are they doing?_

There was movement in the distance that he couldn't make out. Freasch was waving his lightsaber angrily and shouting something but Soren couldn't lipread through the helmet. 

_"Korshot?"_ Soren commed. _"What's going on over there?"_

_"They're spreading out, Lieutenant. It looks like they're making room for something,"_ the hushed tones came from the sniper's nest. 

Soren frowned. Was Freasch bringing in Imperial reinforcements already? The cunning Chiss had planned to thin the horde a little more before facing any Imperial soldiers but it looked like his well laid plans were about to be ruined. 

Something large and grey appeared on the horizon and Soren thought he could see the faintest shimmer of durasteel through his macrobinoculars as the object parted the sea of monsters congregating around Freasch. 

_"Korshot? Do you have a visual?"_

_"I-It's an energy canon, sir,"_ the shaky answer came. 

_"What? Are you sure?"_ Soren bristled. 

_"Plain as day, Lieutenant,"_ Korshot confirmed. 

_"Blast,"_ Soren cursed under his breath, trying to stay in character. 

He hadn't been counting on such heavy artillery this early in the fight. If Freasch was wheeling out the big guns, this could all be over much quicker than he thought. The Castellan Restraints flared up again, radiating through his temples as a painful reminder that he was supposed to buy time for Kothe and his team to evacuate the SIS. But there wasn't anything he could do if the the Sith Lord decided to blast them into oblivion. 

_"They're pointing it straight at the Main Gate, sir,"_ Korshot relayed worriedly over the comlink. 

Suddenly, the pain evaporated and was replaced by a perfect clarity as Soren felt himself smile. Freasch was still convinced the Resistance had barricaded themselves inside the Sanctuary. He was going to blow the entrance so his monsters could get at the easy pickings inside. It was too perfect. 

_"They're prepping to fire, Lieutenant. Should we try to intercept with a rocket launcher?"_ Korshot suggested. 

_"No,"_ Soren replied. _"Let's play along."_

If Freasch wanted the shield down, he could have it. Soren had stationed himself and a small garrison of men inside the hangar as a decoy. They were all incredibly visible across the flat plain and through the open gate, all the better to entice a certain Sith Lord to send the bulk of his forces at them and Soren had a feeling he was going to do just that. 

He switched the frequency over to Corporal Dunhas. _"Ready the shield,"_ he said as the energy canon in the distance summoned a red glow from its durasteel depths. 

It was pointing right at him, he could see it through the macrobinoculars as he smiled to himself, confident in his plan but the Danislans standing behind him were suddenly not so sure about their position. 

"Uh, sir?" Tulsey stirred on his right. "They're aiming straight at us. Should we evacuate?" 

"Not yet," Soren replied in Mada's stern baritone. 

"Everyone remain calm and hold your positions," he said loudly, trying to quell the growing fear in the soldiers. He could hear them murmurring and fidgeting behind him but they trusted Mada enough to do as they were told. 

He heard the high pitched whine of the canon in the distance and instantly raised Dunhas on the comlink. 

_"Now,"_ the word came out of his mouth just as a bright red beam of light burst from the distant cannon's barrel, growing from an infinitessimally small pinprick to a large sphere, three metres in diameter and coming into contact with the Sanctuary's red wall of protection which bloomed within a millisecond of its collision. The canon's beam struck the energy shield with an ear-splitting screech, sending a fountain of sparks fizzling out of the Main Gate and a rumble through the hangar in which they stood. 

Soren flinched, covering his ears and fumbling for the comlink in the cuff of his sleeve. He cupped a hand over his earpiece and spoke into the small device, contacting Staff Sergeant Rinda who watched from his hiding spot in the forest as the Imperial energy canon bore into the Sanctuary's main defense. 

_"RINDA!"_ Soren yelled over the noise in the hangar. _"THE MINES! AUREK 1 AND 5!"_

He didn't hear the response as the hangar shook with vibrations from the impact of the canon. The floor lurched beneath him and several soldiers lost their balance, toppling their fellows as they struggled to find purchase. 

Soren managed to stay on his feet, turning away from the Main Gate and finally facing the men for which he was responsible. 

"EVACUATE!" he shouted over the peal, gesturing with his arms for everyone to go. "EVERYONE FOLLOW YOUR GROUP LEADERS TO THE DESIGNATED EXITS!" he yelled, unsure if anyone could hear him but the Danislans seemed to understand, perhaps realizing it was the only logical course of action in their situation. 

Soren watched them split into two groups, following Sergeants Forgan and Tulsey as they ushered everyone through the exits on either side of the hangar, leading them up into the forest where the rest of the Resistance was laying in wait for the Imperials. He spun around and took one last look at the blistering energy shield, valiantly defending the Sanctuary against the perpetual laser blast. 

Sparks flew wildly off into the plains, edging closer and closer to the mines Soren had asked Rinda to arm. If the shield could hold out for just a little longer... 

**BOOM.**

The familiar roar of detonating mines rang out just outside the Main Gate and Soren covered his ears again, straining against the sound. Soil and smoke erupted from the ground in a similar fashion to the ones they had already used and masked the Main Gate of the Sanctuary from view. 

Soren waited. His ears deafened by the tumult, he could only watch as the laser beam from the energy cannon continued to burrow into the shield of red light, bursting and blistering the outside in a shower of sparks. 

And then it stopped. 

The energy canon had ceased fire. Freasch had fallen for the ruse. The smoke temporarily hid the entrance and from the outside, it would appear as if the energy shield had been destroyed in the explosion. 

_"Turn it off,"_ Soren said rather loudly into the comlink, his ears were ringing and he couldn't hear the reply but the red energy shield was lowered once again and then, he was gone. 


	28. Futile Resistance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Danislans finally engage the Imperial forces as Lord Freasch leads the charge down the Julanti Plains himself.

In the verdant depths of the Parretal Forest, the Resistance had evenly spread themselves beneath the foliage, staining the fabric of their clothing and uniforms with the murky green sap of the willowbrank tree. Camouflaged and hidden by the arboreous landscape which they'd grown to know so well, the Danislans cautiously huddled behind tree trunks and plants that grew not far from the cliff's edge. They disguised turrets as bushes and snipers as leafy tufts of sellograss. Soldiers hugged mossy boulders and the few canons they had became deceptively large fungi to their far-off enemies.

Soren scrambled through the trapdoor that led out into the scrub just off the cliff and gestured for all the exits to be locked down. His ears were still ringing and he could barely make out what the people around him were saying as he leaned against a tree, trying to catch his breath. Lord Freasch had not waited for the smoke to clear before sending more of his abominations into the fray and Soren had felt the ground shaking beneath him as the stampede approached the unprotected Sanctuary, ready to devour the Danislan Guard which had only just been evacuated.

He called for Staff Sergeant Rinda, receiving several frightened looks from the soldiers nearby. Evidently he'd shouted instead of speaking, his hearing impaired by the ringing in his ears. But the Sergeant soon appeared beside him, a bandolier of grenades strapped to his chest along with a collection of detonators, switches and fuses hanging from his utility belt.

"Yes, Lieutenant," Soren read his lips.

"The detonator," he murmured, trying to soften his voice. "For the blasto in the hangar." He held out his hand. He couldn't hear himself speak.

Rinda rushed away to his equipment stash nearby and returned promptly with a handheld remote detonator which blinked with a little red light, still unarmed. He passed it to Soren with some words the Chiss couldn't make out but he understood the premise.

"At my command, I need you to arm every row of mines on the field in alphabetical order with a time delay of 0.3 seconds. Can you do that?" he tried to speak quietly but the Sergeant's widened eyes revealed the height of his volume.

Rinda mouthed something that looked like a yes, or perhaps a willingness to try and saluted before turning away and heading back towards his station where a portable field terminal had been set up between the roots of a large willowbrank. He began typing furiously at the computer and Soren turned to face the gathering of soldiers.

"Everyone head deeper into the forest," he said loud enough for himself to hear. "Take cover and brace for impact." He gestured beneath him.

The Danislans all nodded and bustled away to do as he said but instead of joining in, Soren made his way through them, jogging up to the edge of the cliff. He dropped to his knees and lay down flat to crawl out onto the ledge where he had positioned his snipers. The roof of the hangar was reinforced durasteel, alloyed with phobium and hopefully capable of withstanding the impact for what he had planned.

The crafty Chiss nestled himself in between Korshot and Winsley, settling under a leafy blanket to set up his sniper rifle while observing the battlefield from above. His field of vision increased dramatically from the high vantage point and as he slipped his eye into the scope he could see a whole lot more.

The Julanti Plains had become a slaughterhouse. Dark black blood oozed out of the fresh bodies of Freasch's monsters. Carved, decapitated, mutilated, detonated, ripped, torn, smashed, crushed and cut to pieces by Soren's various tricks and traps, some courtesy of the Ithorians' research and others of his own design. More than half the land was scorched by detonated mines and the air was thick with dust.

Soren now realized why the Sith Lord had pulled out the big guns. The sneaky Chiss operative had made a pretty big dent in his army of freakish ghouls and he was averse to losing any more of them but Soren had anticipated this eventuality. The energy shield couldn't last forever, he knew that. With the explosion in front of the Main Gate, Freasch now believed he had destroyed the shield, leaving the Sanctuary open to a forward assault but that wasn't quite true.

Soren had placed himself and exactly 102 soldiers into the hangar, not only to entice Lord Freasch and his monstrosities to come bounding towards them but also to hide the seven stacks blastoplast bricks Rinda had wired together and connected to the detonator in Soren's hand.

He could see them now, through the clearing smoke. Freasch's improved creations were speeding towards them again. The Sith hadn't bothered to send them in waves this time, confident the Resistance had been broken, confident any more traps and mines would be inconsequential. Through the scope, Soren could see the cocky Sith Lord astride his giant white beast. A satisfied smile visible on his pale, grey face despite the helmet.

Such supreme confidence. Typical of Sith. They never imagined that a non-force user could ever hope to compete with them.

And it was mostly true. One on one, Soren would be hard-pressed to defeat a Sith Lord but he wasn't alone and he had time to prepare, time to think. The Castellan Restraints had compelled him to prolong Freasch's campaign but that didn't mean he would go down without a fight. Despite being an Imperial spy, there was nothing Soren detested more than an arrogant Sith Lord and he would endeavour to wipe that sick smile off his face before he met his end.

He pulled back from the scope, he didn't need it to see the approaching horde now. There seemed to be an awful lot more of them this time but they didn't need any guidance to run straight at the Main Gate like the first wave of creatures did. Freasch must have a mental bond with the ones he created himself, it was the only way they could be controlled so precisely but this would also work to Soren's advantage.

He twisted the switch on the detonator in his hand and the light flickered green to signify readiness. He brushed a gloved thumb over the trigger mechanism as the horde began funnelling into the hangar beneath him.

Murky green reptiles with many more legs than was reasonable gnashed their massive protruding fangs and whipped their powerful tails. Tentacled amphibians with sleek, silky bodies oozed black tar from their pores as they ran, spilling their slime over the existing masses of dead and dying creatures. Even the grotesque avian monsters which should have been able to spot Soren and the Resistance from a great height, blindly and obediently charged into the empty hangar.

Soon the smoke cleared completely and Soren could see the Julanti Plains were alive, black and writhing with the unending horde of monstrosities Freasch had so carefully constructed. The dark blur of bustling abominations stretched into the horizon, all the way to the white Rancor hybrid atop which the Sith Lord sat smiling.

Soren felt a tiny scowl break out on his face.

 _"I'll give you something to smile about,"_ he thought as he keyed the comlink in his cuff.

 _"All Resistance fighters, this Lieutenant Mada. We're about to blow the hangar. Raise your shields. Take up defensive positions and brace for impact."_ he warned them.

The hangar wasn't part of the Sanctuary's lockdown protocol. To cope with the inevitable downpour of Danislan rains, the Ithorians had built thick durasteel bulkheads which sealed hermetically to prevent leaks and flooding during the more severe wet seasons. Using the blueprints and schematics of the Sanctuary, Soren calculated that the dual reinforced doors should be able to withstand the impact of at least 63 blastoplast bricks.

Keyword: _should_

Korshot and Winsley activated their energy field generators beside him and Soren followed suite, letting the gentle blue glow of the semi-transparent shield join with those of his neighbours to create a long wall of light above the Main Gate, giving away their positions.

But was it worth it?

Would this even work?

Theoretically, his plan was solid but practically? There was a lot that could go wrong. If Rinda hadn't armed the blasto correctly or Soren had overestimated the Gate's defenses?... or if they couldn't time the detonation right or the men didn't secure themselves properly...?

He shook his head. All he usually had to worry about were his own abilities, his own failure and death but now there were so many tiny things that could go wrong. Was this what it was like? Making command decisions with the lives of so many men at stake? The feeling of responsibility made him feel incredibly uncomfortable, anxious even but it was too late for second guessing. He keyed the comlink for the Staff Sergeant.

 _"Rinda, are we ready?"_ he asked, cupping his hand over his earpiece which was already at full volume.

 _"I think I have it. Ready on your command, Lieutenant,"_ came the muffled reply.

Soren took one last look out at the Julanti Plains which had been so empty and peaceful only a few hours ago. So much death and darkness and he was only about to make it worse. He caught sight of one of the monsters below, scraping through the crowded bottleneck which had developed at the Main Gate. Feline in form but leathery in hide and twisted with the same dark veins of corruption.

But the eyes. The eyes were Human.

Soren took a deep breath.

 _"May warrior's fortune smile upon us,"_ he whispered under his breath and pressed the button his thumb had been tracing for the last few minutes.

 _"Now!"_ he barked over the comlink as the explosion roared out of the gate. The force shook the inside of the hangar and rumbled through the ceiling. The ground beneath them quaked and the trees around them trembled, releasing the remaining bird-life into the sky above the Parretal Forest.

Soren grabbed hold of the long chain they'd nailed down to give themselves purchase. He felt it shake and rattle as the rest of the men clung on for dear life. The detonation erupted beneath them and spilled flame and smoke through the Main Gate, blasting through the swarm of creatures that had mindlessly rushed in at Lord Freasch's command.

Soren held his breath, waiting, hoping, to hear more than just the tumultuous roar of the blasto eviscerating the enemy beneath them.

"Please, let it work," he whispered.

And it did.

The initial blast was subsequently followed by a cascade of cacophonous cracks and explosions as every single mine they had buried, detonated in concert, sending geizers of flame and smoke erupting from the ground to blow every single abomination sky-high. Even through the ringing and distortion in his ears, Soren could hear the roar of the mines shredding through the howls and screeches of several thousand creatures.

The Danislans clung to the chain, huddled on the ground for purchase as the land beneath them shook. Soren could only watch as they prayed to their Gods for salvation, knowing it would do them little good. The shield of light protected them from the heat and fire, the debris and decrepit pieces of the enemy flying through the air. There was a long pause before the rumbling beneath them stopped.

Soren let go of the chain and rose up onto his elbows, chancing a peak at the battlefield.

It was hell.

Literal and figurative. The fire and brimstone the Danislans so passionately described in their oral retellings of myths and legends paled in comparison to the death and destruction Soren had painted upon the landscape before them. Corpses. Smoke. Fire. Death. Black and red and glowing.

"Karthnaklos nama reishna!" Winsley exclaimed to his right, touching his forehead with a thumb and kissing it.

 _"So impressionable,"_ Soren shook his head. _"Like children..."_

He pulled up the balaclava which had been gathered around his neck and covered his face to protect himself from the smoke. The holo-facade flickered a moment to adjust but no one noticed it in the commotion. The stealth field settled around his face and he peered into the scope once again. It was still trained on Lord Freasch but no longer was the smug Sith smiling.

Soren's memory tossed him back to his third year in the Shadow Operative Training Program. They were learning how to simulate Human emotions, display them convincingly and use them to manipulate others but Chiss were never very good at exaggerating. Their feelings were conveyed through tiny microexpressions that other species found difficult to spot, let alone interpret and trying to twist their faces into awkward Human shapes proved difficult for everyone.

The Overseers would capture Humans from all over the galaxy and cage them for the cadets to watch, observe and provoke. They needed a model, of course. Someone who could convincingly and sincerely portray the full spectrum of emotions and when the man they'd been studying for several days finally realized this, they got their first look at what Human rage looked like.

Irrational outbursts. Baseless accusations. Violence. Shouting. Despair.

Soren felt like he was watching the Overseers' latest acquisition. Lord Freasch was fuming on top of his horrid white beast, sparks of lightning escaping his grasp and frying the unfortunate officers nearby. There were only a few of his monsters left now. His favourites, Soren surmized. The rest of the crowd gathered around him were now Imperial military.

His apprentice, Jarwyn, rode up on a speeder beside the raving Sith, waving his hands to calm his enraged Master.

They were distracted.

He had an opportunity.

 _"Tulsey, what's the status on our scouts,"_ Soren commed the Sergeant. There was a moment of scuffle before he replied.

 _"They're in position, sir, but the canons are surrounded. They won't make it through the guards,"_ his strained ears picked up.

Soren had instructed Mada's scouts to locate the enemy's long range assault cannons and weaponry. If the SIS were to be evacuated by dropship, he would need to disable their anti-aircraft guns and equipment before they took off. The battle should have given his scouts ample time to manouvre into place, disguised as Imperial troopers, and find the last remaining advantage the enemy had besides numbers and Sith. If they could disable their long-range weapons, then maybe...

No, there were still too many of them. They were outnumbered six to one. They were still going to die but the scouts would be first. He needed to make their sacrifice count. They just had to make it past the guards surrounding each mark and set off the detonite.

But they weren't warriors and they weren't operatives. On close inspection, the ruse would be discovered and the scouts subdued before they could complete their objective. They needed a distraction.

Freasch was providing a pretty good one to the troops at the front. The cannon there would be easy to reach but if Soren's knowledge of the Empire's artillery arrangement was accurate, there would be another four bringing up the rear. Near the medical unit...

Soren returned to the scope, looking for his next victim.

He could try for a shot at Freasch but the helmet and armor left very little room for error. The wind was unpredictable and could potentially carry his shot off course. And the movement. Freasch would not hold still. His arms flailed about, summoning lightning in anger and his head shook with rage. But his apprentice...

Soren realligned his sights with Jarwyn's back. The young man was wearing a much simpler set of robes than his master and the cervical vertebrae were exposed. A tricky shot but Soren had nailed worse. He dug his body into the ground and slowed his breathing, observing his target.

Jarwyn was doing his best to convince Freasch to let the Imperial forces handle the rest of the fighting. They were not even close to beaten yet but the Sith Lord would have none of it and his Apprentice was left standing with his back towards the enemy.

The shot lined up, the windspeed tracker in his scope adjusted his aim and with a deep exhale, Soren let his finger touch the trigger.

The product of Imperial Science and Munitions development, custom-fitted and modified by Soren himself, the sniper rifle in his hands was silent and deadly and much more accurate than the standard issue rifles the Danislans had managed to pilfer from the Imperials. With a whisper and a faint hiss, the shot travelled the length of the Julanti Plains and passed through the flesh of Freasch's Apprentice, leaving a gaping hole through his chest as it escaped his body.

The Sith Lord instantly quitted his tantrum, watching the life of his pupil flee from the corpse Soren had made of it.

He recognised that expression. It was disbelief.

Several Imperial soldiers rushed over to catch Jarwyn's body as it collapsed and the call went up for the medical unit in the rear. There was hustling and bustling and shuffling within the Imperial line and Soren saw his chance.

 _"Put me through to the scouts,"_ he ordered Tulsey. There was a reply but Soren's hearing was still too poor to distinguish the words at that volume. There was a sharp click on his comlink as it connected to the scouts' frequency. They were going to need some encouragement and the Castellan Restraints radiating from his temples lent him purpose.

 _"Kalthos, Tieran, Smolt, Vorusk, Maens, Tummer. I hope you can hear me. This is Lieutenant Mada. I want you to know that we're winning. That Freasch's horde was all but destroyed by that last explosion. That was us. We did that. Together. But what I ask of you now, each of you will do alone._  
_I can't begin to describe your bravery, your courage and devotion but I know that if Captain Delwitt was here with us, he would be out there with you, detonite in hand, climbing over the enemy's artillery and shouting for Danisla's freedom. I know you'll do him proud. The lives of every single Danislan inside the Sanctuary depend on you now, Karthnaklos furei tomah. And thank you,"_ he said but before he could even finish, several plumes of flame lit up inside of the Imperial forces, blasting holes in their army and leaving craters of the artillery which had posed the last remaining obstacle he could confidently remove without entering close-quarters combat.

Now the stage was set and as the remaining cannons went up in flames, Soren felt the tightening grip of the Castellan Restraints on his mind. His last chance to run. To escape and hide somewhere while the Danislans fought the Imperials head-on. But he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, his head reluctantly pressed into the scope again.

Freasch was livid. The Sith Lord was a living conduit for the dark power of rage atop his hideous beast of burden. He screamed for the Imperial forces to attack and before they could respond, the lightning crackling around him strayed into the hide of his steed, spurring it into a gallop across the plain.

Bound to his will, the remaining monstrosities followed and behind them, the ever loyal Imperial troopers gritted their teeth and marched onwards towards their quarry.

Soren took a deep breath and switched on his comlink again, perhaps for the final time.

 _"All troops, this is Lieutenant Mada. Take up offensive positions along the cliffside. Snipers and long range weapons on point. Pick off their forward line. Do not aim for the Sith. I repeat, do not aim for the Sith,"_ he relayed.

He looked up to see the Danislans emerging from the brush, weapons in hand and visibly emboldened by their short-lived victory. Tulsey and Forgan each barked orders, coordinating the men and directing them into offensive positions along the cliffside, weapons aimed through the openings in the shield of blue light that crowned the scorched Main Gate and beyond.

They knew what they were doing, Soren hoped and turned his attention back to the scope.

Freasch was coming down the plains at a gallop, rushing towards him on that big white beast. He needed to slow him down but knew better than to fire a direct shot at a Sith Lord. At best, it would alert him to Soren's location, at worst, it could be reflected back towards them and take out a Resistance fighter in the process.

He spied the Imperial soldiers bringing up the rear, hardly able to keep up with Freasch's monstrosities on foot. It was unlikely that the Sith could go much faster without his mount but the heaving mass of white muscle had almost no visible vulnerabilities. Even its eyes were shielded by bony protrusions from its forehead and the rhythm of its run was difficult to predict.

Korshot and Winsley wasted no time in crippling some of the easier targets beside him. The beasts on the front line were being slowly subdued by their well timed and well aimed shots. A few other snipers did the same and endeavoured to fell as many of the creatures as possible before they came into range but it took at least three direct hits to take them down.

Soon the soldiers with assault cannons came into play as Tulsey and Forgan shouted to open fire on the approaching enemies. Sprays of bolts and beams perforated the air, leaving the distinct smell of compressed yffridium lingering after each shot.

 _"And so it ends..."_ Soren thought bitterly.

The creatures had no long range weaponry and the Imperial forces were lagging behind them, their heavy artillery in flames but their numbers were undiminished. From the horizon to the very foot of the Main Gate, their enemy was storming the Sanctuary, led by the furious form of the Sith Lord Freasch.

The Julanti Plains were strewn with corpses, some piled so high that the horde had to circle around them to make their way up to the Main Gate as they got closer. Soren spotted Freasch having similar troubles as the gargantuan Rancor/Reek hybrid on which he rode had to slowly climb over the obstacles in their way.

He smiled as an idea came to him. Rancors and Reeks did not have many physical points of weakness that he could target, especially at this distance but there was always a psychological instability to be exploited in his enemies. And in the case of the Rancor, Soren knew it was fire.

He pulled an incendiary round from the pouch on his belt and clicked it into the barrel of his rifle, locking and loading it into place. If his little lightshow had proven anything, it was that all of these nightmarish creatures were incredibly flammable.

And hopefully this next shot would be enough to stop Freasch in his tracks.

Soren slotted his eye into the scope and aimed for the large pile of corpses the white homunculus was approaching.

 _"Let's see how much your pet likes playing with fire,"_ he silently sneered, breathing out and holding steady.

The snipers around him were still desperately trying to subdue the front line, one killshot at a time. The grenadiers and gunners began a round of suppressive fire against the wave of creatures trying to climb their way up the cliff. Their heavily disguised turrets were activated, instantly spraying a barrage of bolts down at the assailants below and the remaining Resistance Fighters pointed their weapons down through the wall of energy fields to take a potshot at the monstrosities beneath.

The Danislans had the high ground as Soren intended but not the advantage. He pushed the futility of his efforts out of his mind and concentrated on the shot. Letting it loose with deadly accuracy into a pile of quadrupedal mammals which had been rendered limbless by the blast. The incendiary bolt hit home and caught fire on the black blood oozing out of the corpses. The flames grew and spread out in front of Lord Freasch who's furious face he could now see rather clearly in the scope.

The Rancor/Reek reared up at the bright red bonfire blooming all around it and the Sith was almost thrown forward by the force, staying aloft only through some mystical power of his own.

KRAKOOM.

The ground beneath him shook and Soren instinctively grabbed on to the chain they'd nailed down for purchase. He'd been so caught up in delaying Freasch that he hadn't noticed the Imperial forces that had caught up to their commanding officer and pulled out their portable missile launchers to assault the Danislan Resistance.

"ktah..." he muttered, watching part of the cliff to his left crack and split and crumble, taking more than a dozen men and portable shield generators with it.

The anger spurred his urgency and his firey red eyes quickly found the offending soldier with rocket launcher in hand. Soren swiftly adjusted his rifle and even the rumbling of the ground couldn't deny him the killshot as he pulled the trigger on the son of a sow that just took out his men. But he wasn't alone.

The Imperials were incredibly well-equipped compared to the Resistance who had managed to steal a bunch of old rifles and explosives while they weren't looking. A dozen soldiers were already pointing rocket launchers at the cliffside and there wasn't enough time to take them all out.

"BACK!" he shouted, rising out from his hiding place. "RETREAT!" he yelled but it was too late.

A lasso of lightning flashed through the air, criss-crossing and crackling from the Sith Lord's fingertips before hitting full-force into the side of the cliff. It was swiftly followed by a unison of rockets firing into their forward line and the higher ground which they'd so coveted, crumbled beneath their feet.

"BACK!" Soren shouted, running across the cliffside to where the Main Gate ended and the bedrock began.

Several soldiers heard his command and made a break for it but many were not so lucky. Their energy field generators failed and giant chunks of the ground on which they stood, cracked and webbed and split off in chunks, tumbling down the side of the cliff with some of the Danislans still attached.

Soren caught a man by the arm as the ground beneath him caved and threw him back over his shoulder like a ragdoll.

"RUN!" he shouted at the disgruntled soldier behind him, already grabbing another by the scruff of his neck.

He couldn't save them all, he knew it. They had to retreat, to regroup but what good would that do if half of them fell to their deaths.

"EVERYONE RETREAT!" he continued to shout as a second round of rockets crashed into the already crumbling cliff.

Soren was caught off guard and barely managed to keep his balance on the dislocated chunk of rock that split off from the plateau beneath him. The soldier at his side wasn't so co-ordinated but Soren managed to grab him by the arm before leaping back to the safety of the forest. He landed in a forward roll and got up to find at least half of his forces gone. Blasted, burned or crushed in the avalanche of shattered stone that the Imperials had rendered of the cliffside.

He turned to see Tulsey and Forgan ushering the survivors back into the depths of the forest as he had commanded and helped a few more of them to their feet.

KRAKOOM.

Another bright bolt of lighting fizzled and fissured into wide arcs of purple brilliance behind him. It smashed into the shattered cliff at five different points and evaporated the stone, splitting what remained into boulder sized chunks and destabalizing the ground on which he stood.

There wasn't enough balance or strength in his body to save him this time and he fell back as the floor beneath him gave away but a deft hand caught his own before he could go too far and he looked up to see Korshot straining again the weight of his Lieutenant.

Soren grabbed onto his arm with both hands as the Specialist tried to pull him up.

"Hold on!" Korshot yelled over the cacophany but it was barely a whisper in Soren's muted ears. He clutched onto his arm and tried to pull himself up but then a shot rang out and Soren could feel the weightlessness of freefall once again.

Korshot's arm had been severred by a direct hit from the Imperial front line and so had Soren's only remaining link to safety. He watched the Specialist grow smaller as he fell back and then another shot took off the sniper's head. Another man, gone.


	29. Death Wish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After barely surviving the fall, Soren makes one final push through the Imperial Forces to strike at Lord Freasch.

Soren winced and let go of the severed arm in his hands. He flipped his body over to make sure he was falling upright and began scrambling for a foothold in the side of the cliff, searching for something, anything that could decelerate his fall. His hand found a ledge but it snapped as soon as he caught it. Then a trestle and an outcrop and a snag, all painfully crumbling beneath his fingers as he desperately tried slow himself down to survive the impact.

The Imperials kept shooting up at the remaining Danislan soldiers who had chosen to defend the position while the rest escaped but it did little good. They were simply gunned down by the enemy who tirelessly fired upon the Resistance fighters.

Soren dodged a few blaster bolts as he fell and grabbed onto a thick tree root which had been exposed by the continuous bombardment. It held him and the cunning Chiss felt his whole body lurch forward as the force of a sudden stop hit him in the gut and the arm.

It was still a ways down but he could definitely survive a fall from that height. He'd done so before and he hoped as he dangled that the Imperials wouldn't notice him for a few more seconds but-

KRAKOOM.

More lightning poured out of the Sith Lord's fingertips, striking random parts of the cliffside and Soren couldn't hold on through the violent tremors.

He let go and began falling again but this time he flipped himself face down and held Mada's coat out by his sides, trying to maximise wind resistance. It was going to be close.

In the split seconds before impact he brought his legs up beneath him and managed to roll himself out of the fall but his shoulder took the brunt of the impact and he heard it pop out of place.

Hissing in pain, he scrambled to his feet and ran in zig-zags searching for shelter on the war-torn battlefield as blaster fire barraded the skies above him.

He found a tall mound created by a detonated mine and slid down into the soily hole beside it to rest for a moment.

He could hear the faded sounds of battle growing louder around him; his body finally healing the damage to his deafened ears. He frowned as he leaned back against the soil and moved his arm down, abducting it his away from his torso. He slotted his elbow into the holster on his belt and moved his hand away, rotating the arm anterially until he felt it click back into place and brought his hand back around.

 _"Mmm, not so bad the fiftieth time..."_ he thought as he jabbed himself with a syringe full of kolto. The warm, radiating pain of a healing wound flowed through him and he spent all of one minute recovering before the massive form of a feline creature darkened the sky above.

Soren rolled to avoid its razer sharp claws as it pounced into the hole. The creature landed on its feet but the soil of the crater was too slippery for it to stay put. It slid away and tumbled down to the very bottom, its strength no longer lending it control.

Soren pulled out a blaster and shot it three times in the leg, crippling the bulging black muscles that were desperately trying to stand. But with only three legs, the slope became near impossible to traverse for the wounded beast, unlike Soren who cleared it easily on two quick, sure feet.

He unclipped a frag grenade from his belt and threw the armed projectile over his shoulder. It would land and detonate in the crater without his observation as he crouched down and ran across the battlefield once again.

He needed to find cover. Someplace to regroup and rethink his strategy. The Castellan Restraints flared up again, radiating painfully through his head as he considered the possibility of escape. The Danislans probably thought he was dead. The battle was over and could not be won by his meagre forces. The inner bulkhead of the Sanctuary was secure for now but the Main Gate had been breached and it wouldn't take long for the Sith to carve it open like a can of rations with his lightsaber.

All of his plans. All of his scheming and guile had counted for nought.

He slipped in behind a large headless vine cat/klawhorn hybrid and crouched down to consider his options. He had the chance to slip away. To shed his disguise and blend into the approaching army of Imperial soldiers to make his escape but the Castellan Restraints stabbed him in the temples and he felt the growing need to defend the Sanctuary from Freasch. Cursing the brainwashing once again, there was nothing left but to pull out his blaster and start shooting.

Soren peeked out over the carcass he was using for protection and spied the moving line of Imperial troopers that were approaching the cliffside. The crumbling ruin of what was left had become a much more agreeable slope and could be climbed without grappling equipment.

Lord Freasch ordered his vanguard to pursue the Danislans and each trooper loyally obeyed, taking one labourious step at a time up the demolished cliffside.

Soren wished he still had his rifle. He was close enough to the Sith Lord to land a killshot he couldn't deflect but all he had was the blaster in his hand and the knives hidden in his coat and-

The Castellan Restraints seized him up as he realized the detail of his mission statement. Hunter had commanded him to defend the Danislans. Not ensure their victory. And without Freasch, they would simply be arrested and taken to the capital. Branded as slaves or criminals but _alive_. If he killed the Sith Lord, it would mean an end to all his ghoulish experiments and the 12th regiment of the Imperial Army would be free to return to the war front.

But could he kill a Sith?

The shadow operative's first rule of murder was never to engage an enemy directly. Manipulation was preferable and usually involved whispering a few choice words in a rival Sith's ear. They would gladly tear each other's throats out to prove who was better. He had hoped that Lord Kallig would aid him in this endeavour but it was too late for that.

Another alternative was aerial bombardment but the odds were fifty-fifty and a kill could not be confirmed from a safe distance. Which left...

 _"Ktah..."_ he muttered again, pulling out a probe droid from the inside of his coat. It was tiny compared to the standard models, fitting snuggly in the palm of his hand. He carefully attached a pouch full of grenades to the bottom and rigged it to blow on his command. Then he tapped a button on its head and the spherical probe beeped in response, gently lifting off. It floated beside him as he performed final checks with his datapad, blasterfire screeching over his head.

The probe tootled in acknowledgement as he sent it away, guiding it gently through the decaying battlefield while the Imperial soldiers focused on the stubborn Danislan Resistance above them.

 _"Why are they still fighting?'"_ Soren shook his head. _"I told them to retreat."_

He turned back to his little probe droid picking its way through the soldiers and corpses, hovering a few feet off the ground in front of a stink-fly carapace. He quickly adjusted its flight path and guided it slowly but surely towards the tall white Rancor/Reek hybrid that was standing only 50 metres away.

In the debris and smoke of the battlefield, the probe was too small to make out for any of soldiers but Soren's firey red eyes had not trouble tracing its faint grey outline. The Sith wouldn't notice it either, they could only feel living things in the Force or so he'd been told.

The tiny silver sphere with its spiky antennae quietly floated under the Rancor/Reek's enormous feet and found a good position under its belly to simply drop.

Soren tapped a button on his datapad and took up a brace position on the uneven ground, staining the tan brown coat of Lieutenant Mada with the blackest of blood as the probe droid exploded in a firey blaze. It scorched the underbelly of the great white beast, turning its underside black and taking its feet out from under it but it didn't explode into a thousand tiny pieces as Soren had hoped.

It did throw the Sith Lord off his steed though and that was a little more helpful.

Freasch was tossed into the air by the toppled creature and smacked against the ground painfully, losing his helmet in the fall. But that wouldn't be enough to stop him. Only create a momentarily delay which Soren planned to use to take him down before he recovered.

"Hey! Over there!" he heard one of the Imperials shout as they rushed in to help Freasch through the fire.

"There's someone behind that Klawhorn thing!" A grunt pointed.

"Take Gorskiy and Tubett and check it out, our squad will help Lord Freasch!" grunted another man through the din.

Soren ducked back down into his hiding place and cursed himself for being so careless. The troopers were probably wearing hi-vis helmets that helped them see through the smoke. But they couldn't see through his deception.

Soren pulled off Mada's cap which had been pinned to his head and gently placed it on top of the carcass he was hiding behind. He skirted around as both troopers approached, beelining for the officer's hat they thought was the enemy. Soren pulled out two hidden vibroblades and snuck up behind them, opening their throats through the immeasurably thin gap in their armor. They didn't have time to retaliate as their lifeblood spilled out of them and they collapsed onto the Klawhorn corpse, adding themselves to the pile.

Soren instantly recognized his opportunity to steal a set of the Imperial armor but just as his hands reached for one of the helmets, he heard the loud call of a trooper nearby.

"Rebel scum! Dead ahead!" he called out and Soren instinctively rolled to the side to avoid the inevitable blaster fire.

He slapped his portable energy field generator to the ground and hunkered down beneath its bright red glow, his holofacade flickering with the speed. The shield held up against the barrage of bolts and Soren patiently waited for them to overheat, pulling two blasters out of the hidden holsters in his coat. With a keen eye and deadly accuracy he spotted six soldiers travelling towards him as he rose out of cover and sent a hailstorm of blasterfire whistling back at them.

Four went down before the rest began shooting again and Soren had to take cover. He fired over the top of the blazing red shield with much less accuracy and effect but he still managed to kill one of them. The enemy's shots were far less successful, missing him entirely or absorbed by the energy field as the skirmish progressed. It was still very hard to see through the smoke and dust but he chanced another peek over the shield. What he saw didn't encourage him.

Another platoon of Imperial troopers was coming to the aid of the men he had felled and another and another after that. The endless wave of a full-forced army beaten back by a single man for all of five minutes before they opened up an infinite storm of blasterfire. A stray shot clipped Soren in the arm and he hunkered back down beneath his energy field which was barely holding against the incoming attack. Imperial Science and Development was good but not that good. It wouldn't hold for long and he was out a shooting hand.

But then the rain of fire stopped.

Soren looked up to find the troopers retreating and regrouping to find cover of their own. He spun his head around to discover the cliffside strewn with Imperial soldiers having fallen and slipped down the slope on what appeared to be an oil slick. He instantly recognised the willowbrank sap he instructed Tulsey to collect from the Sanctuary's sample storage and bring up to the surface.

The Sergeant had regrouped and taken up command after Lieutenant Mada apparently fell to his death but his best laid plans were not going to waste. Tulsey quickly ordered the paltry squad of artillerymen to fire their rocket launchers into the Imperials who had bombarded them first and the Danislans quickly followed his command. They laid down suppressive fire on the Imperial front line and unknowingly provided Soren with an excellent distraction.

He took the opportunity to jab himself with another kolto infusion and then a stimpac to up his endurance. This was going to be painfully difficult, especially without his rifle. With both blasters drawn and ready, he rose out of cover and let himself fall into the violent rhythm of war, blasting several troopers before they saw his smokey silhouette.

The enemy quickly identified the threat and Soren spotted several grenades flying through the air towards him but the stims had quickened his already impressive speed. He jumped over the shield and made to run for the next point of cover just as the grenades detonated behind him and the Imperials opened fire once again. He rolled in behind a stink-fly carapace and came up to shoot another six troopers dead as he scoped out the field.

Freasch was only 30 metres away, shouting angrily at the officers around him to attack with full force and leave not a single one of the Danislans standing. His beast was recovering from the explosion on its back and moaning as the Sith Lord shocked it to flip over. He was helmetless and his slimy black hair was smeared against his head, glassy yellow eyes burning and bold. Barring the fifty or so Imperials around him, he was defenseless and Soren felt the Castellan Restraints flaring at the opportunity.

He pulled a flash grenade out of his belt and slipped on the protective eyegear to match, disappearing into the holofacade of Nordren Mada. With a sure toss, the grenade landed out by a cluster of soldiers and Soren slipped out of his hiding place to work.

Three troopers went down in as many shots at close range, another four were gunned down in the confusion. The bright white light set them all in a panic and many failed to see the stealthy Chiss approach before suffering fatal wounds to the head, chest and neck. Their helmets were designed to see through many things but direct exposure to such an intense light source was blinding.

Soren pulled the trigger on another trooper's chest who cried out and dropped his rifle, straight into Soren's outstretched hands. He cocked it and fired, spraying the enemies in front of him with bright red light as he kept pushing forward, breaking through. Until he could see an opening.

The flash was beginning to fade and the troopers around him thought to fight him up close with melee. Two of them ran at Soren who dodged at the right moment to have them tackle each other. Another soldier came up from behind, rifle raised to knock him out but Soren roundhouse kicked the weapon from his hands and shot the startled trooper before he could retaliate.

He whirled around in time to see a vibroblade slicing through the air but stepped aside, grabbing the hilt and punching the wind out the trooper holding it. He let go and Soren whirled the blade around, slicing off his head without batting an eye.

 _"Out of the way." He_  could see Freasch clearly now, 20 metres and a perfect wind speed but he didn't have his sniper rifle, he didn't have a clear shot through the soldiers and he didn't have time to stop and aim as they rammed him.

But he would not be denied. Vibroblade in one hand and blaster rifle in the other, Soren mowed down the troopers that tried to stop him. One tackled and missed, his arm sliced off, his heart perforated. Another became a shield as Soren sprayed bolts over his shoulder. Two were subdued with the quick toss of a grenade and another fell down with a vibroblade lodged in his crotch.

He was close now. 15 metres to the target but the shot still wasn't clear. The Imperials were swarming all around him, trying desperately to obstruct the assassin from reaching Lord Freasch but it made little difference.

There was no going back, he was a dead man walking and only if he killed the Sith would the Castellan Restraints release him.

He shot and stabbed and sliced and punched and kicked and jumped over the soldiers that kept coming and quite soon he found himself perfectly positioned to shoot the arbiter of his destruction, releasing six shots in quick succession that should have perforated his balding skull.

But it wasn't to be.

The blaster bolts sputtered and bounced off as they hit the bright red blade of Freasch's lightsaber. The Sith turned his head and pierced him with those horrible yellow eyes, gleaming with malice as he discovered the source of all his troubles.

Soren found himself frozen in place. Unable to move or to think as the Castellan Restraints burrowed into his brain, compelling him to fight and to kill but there was nothing he could do against the Force.

Freasch raised his free hand and Soren dropped his weapons. An invisible rope tightened around his neck and he rose into the air. He scrambled at this throat, pulling the balaclava down so he could breathe but it didn't help.

The Sith Lord approached him, one incredibly measured step at a time and looked up at Soren choking in his invisible grasp.

"You..." he growled up at the struggling Chiss whose face was still hidden beneath a holo-facade.

Freasch raised his lightsaber and pointed it at Soren's throat but instead of stabbing him, the Sith sliced off the lapel of his coat and revealed the coat of arms for the Danislan National Guard. A badge and a pin divulged his identity and Freasch smiled wickedly as he spoke.

"Lieutenant Nordren Mada," he growled. "You've simply outdone yourself this time." The smile grew into a terrifying grimace.

"Where's your Captain?" he barked.

Soren was sucking in what little oxygen his crushed airways could afford, trying to grasp at the invisible Force holding this throat.

"He's...dead," Soren lied. "There's no one left...."

"Oh, I don't think so..." the Sith hissed. "I can feel them down there, cretin. I can feel the tens of thousands of digusting primitives writhing around beneath the ground but don't fret. I assure you they'll make excellent test subjects for my new experiments. This army that you've destroyed is nothing compared to the horde I will unleash upon the galaxy when it is complete."

Soren struggled against the crushing grip and depleting oxygen supply, choking and sputtering as he felt his head spin. He wouldn't last much longer. The stims were fading and the kolto was spent. His arm was tingling and the sensation in his feet was gone.

"Where's the Krag, you wretched slime?" Freasch snarled at him. "And the Jedi whelp?"

Soren opened his mouth to speak but there wasn't much he could say at this point. His death was upon him and he found himself wondering if, for once in his life, he could do the thing he wanted to do.

_Would it be inappropriate?_

A mischievous grin brightened his face as he used his remaining strength to spit in the zealous Sith's scowl.

"...g-go to hell..." he wheezed, glad the nightmare was about to end.

Freasch wiped the muck off his face and sneered.

"Very well," he raised the lightsaber above his head, gripping the Force tightly around Soren's throat with the other hand. "You will be the first to die by my blade," he snarled but Soren didn't feel anything.

He continued dangling from the invisible chokehold around his neck and opened his eyes to see the Sith was distracted.

By what he could not tell but his ears soon answered the question. His feet weren't on the ground but his healing hearing could once again pick up the vibrations of some far away noise, rumbling in the distance.

The Sith heard it too or he'd picked up some other disturbance using his magic Force powers because he turned away and looked up at the Julanti mountain range that skirted the plains. They had been fighting right beside it and despite the tactical advantage of alpine terrain, Soren's men weren't trained for an assault like that so he'd chosen to concentrate on the flats and the forest.

But now the mountains were rumbling, small boulders and debris rolling down the slope much like they had the dismantled cliff. The sound got louder and louder and he finally recognized it. Scratching. Digging.

Something was tunneling under the mountain and quickly.

Freasch suddenly lost interest in Soren and the Force around his throat disappeared.

He dropped to the ground, sputtering and gasping as the air he was denied, once again entered his lungs. Down on all fours, Soren could feel the ground shuddering beneath him. Each tremor sent the soldiers around him sprawling and many were caught off balance, falling to the ground and getting back up again repeatedly.

Freasch walked over to his pet Rancor/Reek which was still sizzling from the scars Soren had given it and kicked the poor creature with enough Force to flip it over. It roared and bemoaned but did as the Sith silently commanded, leaning down to let the comparitively small man mount.

"Hup-up!" He kicked it again once he was in his seat and steered it away from the mountain.

"Out of my way, fools!" he cried, trampling whoever was in his path as he trotted away on the beast.

Soren looked up at the mountain and suddenly the tremors stopped.

The shaking, the rumbling was momentarily paused and in the next minute he understood why.

The base of the mountain closest to the plain cracked and split with a dull

THUMP.

A pause.

THUMP.

Boulders and rubble began tumbling down the mountain like a waterfall of stone, the beginnings of a rock slide and then-

CRASH.

The side of the mountain burst open and the waterfall of stone became a geyzer of rock projected into the flank of the Imperial Forces.

Soren scrambled under a toppled land-speeder and braced against the ground as the storm of projectiles hit the unsuspecting army and decimated the front lines. There was almost nowhere to find cover in the corpse fields and those that could not hide beneath a supply wagon or a medical transport were completely and utterly crushed by the debris.

Soren huddled beneath the speeder and waited. The clash of stone on durasteel reverberated through the hull as the rubble rained down. A large boulder hit the speeder hard and dented it to within an inch of his head, burying the vehicle and pinning him down.

Nowhere to go and nothing to do but wait until the storm passed.

And then he heard it again.

THUMP THUMP THUMP


	30. Timely Interruption

The way was open. Polgax was right. This was much faster than the route her holomap had projected. The Terentatek made quick work of the bedrock seperating them from what the scanner was calling the "Julanti Plains". And soon the light of day blinded her exposed eye.

Zsora smiled.

Something in the Force told her she was right on time as she climbed up the spines on the Terentatek's back. Lord Polgax had showed her where to find the poor creature and it instantly recognized its master's spirit, obeying Zsora's will as she guided it back through the ruins. 

The ancient Sith had called the creature Pocantisorian but she affectionately named him Pooki and he didn't seem to mind. Khem disapproved as always but she was done pleasing him. A Terentatek was exactly the advantage she needed against another Sith after what she'd been through. And as long as he didn't have one of his own, it should be an easy kill.

Zsora pulled out Polgax's lightsaber and unleashed its crackling violet blade, made brilliant and bright by the return to its master. The sweet taste of revenge fed the crystal within its chamber and Zsora could feeling it humming with power, eager for bloodshed as she pointed it down.

Pooki was itching for a fight too. His huge black claws were kneading the ground as he waited for her command. And she gave it.

A single thought and the beast broke through the rocky debris still cascading down in front of them and leapt out into the Julanti Plains ready to maim and kill on behalf of its master.

Zsora could feel the Plains before she could see them. It was almost as though she had never left the Dark Cradle and the underground chamber. So steeped in death that the average sentient was driven mad within seconds. 

All around them were corpses. Mutilated and reshaped and then mutilated again.

The same black blood the Feryas had spilled now blanketed the Plains and in every direction there were dead, exposed and buried.

Zsora almost thought she was too late but then she recognized the thousands of heartbeats singing beneath the ground. The Danislans. En masse. Their bodies chanting a song of fear. Just like Erik's had. But they weren't dead and there were surprisingly more of them on the surface, atop the cliff.

Zsora's eyes adjusted to the comparitively bright light and confirmed what she had already felt through the Force, observing only that there were almost as many Imperial forces as there were corpses, led by a single Sith.

Lord Freasch was mounted atop an enourmous white beast she didn't recognized but she could smell the ghastly black liquid churning inside it, sustained by the Dark Side of the Force just like its master.

Zsora grabbed onto one of Pooki's benign spines as he reared his huge brown skull and roared. His impressive vocal capacity paralyzed fearful Imperials and Danislans alike but the Sith stood fast.

He had ridden to a safe distance away from the rockslide and shielded his troops with the Force, obviously sensing her approach before she made her dramatic entrance. 

Zsora could feel his power, his rage and his hatred overflowing. Behind each, a conflicting set of emotions: pain, despair, anger, sadness, ambition, spite. All fuel for the darkness which Zsora knew so well.

"LORD FREASCH!" she shouted across the plains, her helmet reciprocating as it distorted her voice.

The Sith narrowed his gleaming yellow eyes and Zsora knew she had his attention. With luck, she could pull him into a one-on-one duel that would save the rest of his men. No more Imperial lives need be lost. Nor rebel lives for that matter. The killing ended here and now.

"YOUR BATTLE IS WITH ME NOW!" she shouted, keeping her purpose as vague as possible. Sith rarely need much encouragement to fight to the death but apparently Freasch wasn't a typical specimen.

"WHO IN THE EMPEROR'S NAME ARE YOU?!" he shouted back, unimpressed by the Terentatek or the ancient mask.

"I AM LORD KALLIG!" Zsora shouted again, unphased. The key with Sith was confidence. Overinflate yourself until your enemies run scared or you kill them. 

"AND I AM YOUR DEATH!" Zsora cried out dramatically, raising Polgax's lightsaber and pointing it at the sky. She nudged Pooki with a thought and he leapt into action, sprinting on all fours across the sea of stone and corpses and trampling everything including people underfoot.

Lord Freasch saw the danger of her approach and quickly donned the broken helmet in this hand. He pulled out his own lightsaber and kicked his Rancor of a creature into a gallop as the first drops of rain began to fall.

Zsora braced herself for impact as the two huge beasts rushed towards each other with ground-shattering strides. They bore the two Sith across the Plains, occasionally disturbed by the now uneven surface but eventually the Terentatek and the Rancor hybrid collided.

It took every inch of Force energy she had to stay upright on Pooki's head as he smashed his skull into that of Freasch's monster. Zsora recognized the facial growths protecting its head. The pattern was reminiscent of a Reek and she wasn't sure if a Teretatek was powerful enough to crack it. A Rancor's tough hide wouldn't help him either and Zsora was genuinely worried for his wellbeing. She needed to intervene.

As the two beasts butted heads, pushing endlessly to appease their masters will, Zsora took the opportunity to close the gap between her and Freasch. Lightsaber trailing behind her, she sprinted across Pooki's head and leapt over the distance between them.

But Lord Freasch quickly countered with an aggressive Force-push that sent her flying backwards and over the Terentatek's head. Zsora barely managed to grab one of his spines and climb back up before the Sith broke the stalemate. His command of the Force was strong and with some effort, he pushed the ground beneath Pooki down and his creature was able to violently shove him into the sinkhole.

The Terentatek bucked and squirmed but his legs were trapped and Zsora was exposed on his lowered head. The Reenkor reared and charged at them again and her eyes widened as she realized she was about to experience the full strength of the beast for herself but then Lord Polgax stirred...

 _"You are stubborn and strong, stand fast and he cannot move you,"_ the ancient spirit whispered in her ear.

He wanted to win a lot more than she did and the flames of pride and ambition embridled her power into a great Force push that was able to withstand the charging creature, slowly driving its gargantuan limbs back one step at a time.

"Go down..." Zsora snarled as she pushed the creature back but just as the Force was strong in her hands, so was it strong with Lord Freasch.

He kept pressing into ground, sinking them deeper and deeper. Despite the Terentatek's power to absorb the Living Force, it was unable to negate his power on the environment and Freasch was no fool.

Zsora grit her teeth and pushed back in the invisible struggle for dominance and then she closed her eyes. 

It was suddenly much easier to concentrate in the darkness. Her senses were freed and she let the Force flow through her lightsaber releasing it into a powerful throw. The blade spun through the air and while Freasch was busy drilling them into the ground, Zsora guided the saber into the Reenkor's back leg.

It struck with a hiss, sizzling into the skin and piercing thick hide deep enough to cut flesh. The creature howled in pain and the pressure it had been exerting was suddenly gone. Zsora's hands were freed but Lord Freasch's were not.

His steed reared and broke his concentration, throwing the Sith back in his seat.

Zsora used the opportunity to send a massive Force-push at the already unbalanced Reenkor and the impact pushed it over the edge, toppling the great creature onto its back with a groundquaking smack. 

Beneath her, Pooki began burrowing out of his confinement and soon the ground which had held him captive was soft gravel beneath his feet. He took a step forward with Zsora still aloft and she summoned the lightsaber back to her hand as Freasch scrambled out from under the pitiful creature below. 

"FIRE THE MISSILES! FIRE THE ROCKETS! WHATEVER ORDINANCE YOU HAVE! TAKE THAT THING OUT!" he yelled to the nearest commando.

The soldier quickly relayed the orders to every remaining Imperial with a weapon in his hand and the barrage of bolts and blasts and rockets began, firing endlessly into Zsora and her steed.

The first few she managed to block with a shield of Force energy but there was only so much she could hold before failure. She couldn't deflect the shots randomly without hitting the Imperials. One rocket would be enough to take out a platoon. And a missile? Who knows. 

Freasch was playing smart, he didn't care about his men. He needed Pooki gone and the infidel Sith grounded so that he could trample her with his own giant beast but it wasn't in great shape.

As Zsora held back the onslaught of projectiles being fired at them and guided a few up into the air above, she noticed the Sith Lord chanting something over the dying Reenkor. The spidery black veins that covered its body began to pulse and hum and glow a faint purple colour. Sith magic or alchemy or whatever he was doing, never did bode well and Zsora had seen enough of it to write an encyclopaedia.

She cautiously decided to direct one of the Imperial missiles towards him but the Sith had just as much control over the Force as she did. None of the redirected shots or rockets made contact as he casually waved them up into the sky, detonating harmlessly overheard.

This wasn't an attack. It was a distraction. 

Freasch didn't care about the men at his back or the beast by his side. He wanted Zsora dead and he knew just how to stop her.

The ailing Reenkor reared up its head, moaning and groaning as Lord Freasch's dark power restored its fading strength and forced it to stand. The creature was no longer alive, Zsora could tell, but its body was still functioning somehow, the silhoeutte of Freasch's darkness evident in its spirit.

But she had no time to dwell on the fact. The rockets and missiles kept bombarding her field of protection and soon she was forced to narrow the shape, shielding only her body and leaving Pooki to fend for himself. His bony exoskeleton was strong but it wasn't enough withstand the force of 16 bataton missiles, even if she managed to reroute a few.

The Terentatek was pushed back and Zsora felt his distress, much like her own apprehension for the apparently revived Reenkor that Freasch was not riding towards them. Instead, the Sith Lord had sent the creature off on its own. Slowly and unsurely making its way through the battlefield.

Zsora desperately tried to deflect a rocket at the undead monstrosity but Freasch was still in control. He deflected the projectiles back at her or sent them flying into innocent bystanders, all to keep his pet safe until it reached its destination.

The pulsating purple veins were quite clearly visible now and Zsora gulped as she realized what the Sith Lord had done.

The creature was a walking bomb.

He meant to take the Terentatek down and used the Imperial Forces to lay down suppressive fire so that his creation could reach it. She wasn't sure what kind of power the ultimate explosion would have but if Freasch believed it would be enough to fell her beast then she had no choice. She had to let Pooki go.

As the zombie Reenkor finally neared it destination, Zsora leapt off the Terentatek's back and ran as fast as she could for the shelter of the mountain. She could feel him straining against the bombardment of the Imperials and soon she couldn't feel him at all.

Zsora crossed the threshold to the mountain cave Pooki had created just as the Reenkor exploded behind her. She threw up the Force-shield again, turning to watch as a purple cloud of death obliterated both beasts and sent the rocks and debris on the ground flying. The force was strong enough to flip over an armored caravan of artillery and crush several troopers beneath it. Zsora felt their lives snuffed out as the Living Force was scattered from their desintegrated bodies. Poor souls. Too close to the blast. Unable to escape.

It was a few moments before the blinding purple light began to fade from view and by the time the smoke had cleared, Zsora was gone.


	31. Duel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zsora and Lord Freasch face off

Sparse rain fell over the Julanti Plains, foreshadowing the storm that would soon engulf the world. The massive flats were stained black and grey with corpses and rubble. And just out of reach of the exploded Reenkor carcass, Lord Freasch and his remaining forces stood fast. Waiting for their aggressor to reveal themselves. 

"You think he's gone?" mumbled an Imperial trooper to his squadmate.

"Eyes forward!" the other barked at him irritably.

And the waiting continued.

Lord Freasch was no longer riding a huge white beast. In fact, his menagerie had almost entirely been culled. Only four of his creatures remained by his side but what he now lacked in mindless minions, Freasch had gained in loyal troops.

He put as many commandos between himself and the newly formed cave entrance as possible. His lightsaber was readily ignited in his hand. But his confidence was shaken. No longer was he so brazen as he had been that morning. No longer was he fighting his inferiors.

It was clear now that the rebels had been anticipating his attack. Possibly for days. For who could ever hope to pull off such a defense in a matter of hours? Freasch had only discovered their location last night. But the battle indicated that the Danislans were more than well-prepared and well-warned.

And that could only mean an Imperial spy...

Watcher 66 would get an earful when Freasch saw him next, specifically his ears cut off and shoved down his throat for keeping something like this secret from the Sith. If Freasch survived this encounter himself.

"Sh-shouldn't we be attacking the Danislans, sir?" the trooper spoke up again.

His squadmate didn't answer, his finger tense on the trigger of his blaster rifle, pointing at the cave entrance.

"S-sir?" he said again. "I really think we should- AAaRGH!"

The trooper lit up in a flurry of lightning bolts, criss-crossing in purple beams as they fried his body. He spasmed and screamed out in pain, collapsing as Lord Freasch let his hand fall.

"Not another word," he growled at the terrified Imperials around him and heard no complaint.

He couldn't feel the dark presense in the Force which had been there only moments ago. Even with all his concentration it was difficult to trace a silhouette. There was so much death all around him, distracting him. But a Sith Lord should have been easy to spot even among the corpses.

Who was this Lord Kallig?

Surely, no one of great import. A youngling trying to make a name for himself? 

No. This wasn't the work of one overzealous young Sith, there was something greater at play here. 

Someone very much wanted him dead. 

And Hieronimus Freasch had walked right into their trap.

He seethed with anger and hatred, letting it flow through him like an ambivalent snake ready to strike its foe. 

There was nothing he hated more than a mystery and that hatred had served him well in the past, fuelling his power. But now it seemed like an incredibly dull instrument, incapable of finding even a single Sith standing right behind him.

Suddenly a violet blade erupted out of the ether and came down hard on Freasch's back but he blocked it as the dark presence revealed itself. He pushed through the Force, sending his assailant sliding a few steps back before attacking again.

Their blades met and Freasch pressed the Force into his weapon, doubling his strength and pushing his opponent back. Up close, he saw that the mysterious Sith was quite battered but definitely not as blown up as he intended. The mask was cracked and he could see white skin and a brilliant blue eye. Some blood smeared through hair and...

He dodged a slice and parried the next blow, locking sabers once again. The ground began to rumble beneath them as they fought to control the Force.

"Kill him, you idiots!" Freasch shouted through the duel.

The troopers around them quickly raised their rifles and started shooting but it was easier said than done. 

Freasch's opponent dodged and ducked and jumped out of the way of their shots, deflecting what couldn't be avoided and sending it back at them. And then a bolt hit Freasch.

It grazed his thigh and he failed to successfully parry Kallig's next blow, skidding on the rubble. He doubled back and Force pushed the attacker away, seething through the pain.

"Enough!" he shouted, lightning spilling from his fingertips as he electrocuted the trooper who'd hit him. "I'll deal with this myself!"

He lashed out at the mysterious Sith that seemed incapable of standing still. Hair escaped the broken mask, long threads of silver, bloodstained and broken. Whirling through the air to slice at him with a violet blade. But he matched the speed with strength, with power through the Force and soon he found an opportunity. 

As the sprightly Sith backflipped over his head to dodge a slice, Freasch stabbed his lightsaber into the air and hit home. 

The sound of sheering metal reverberated through the Julanti Plains as Kallig's countenance was sliced in half. The mysterious Sith was thrown off balance and before she disappeared, Freasch caught a glimpse of her face.

Young and female, skin of purest white with dark shadows surrounding her eyes. But what interested him most was the brand. Buried in the wild tangle of hair was a slave brand; bright red and burned into the skin above the forehead as all Imperial slaves were branded.

"So..." he rumbled, circling around the small clearing which had developed during their little duel. 

"A slave..." he pondered out loud, verbally coaxing her out of hiding.

"... and an alien..." He continued pacing, his senses open to an attack at any moment.

"...with the ability to disappear into the Force..." he kept goading. "...like a coward..."

The Imperial soldiers had scrambled back at Freasch's command to ceasefire and the battle with the Danislans had been put on hold as they all stared down at the Sith. The Julanti Plains were silent, waiting with bated breath.

And then she struck out, a desperate lunge into his back but he'd shielded himself with the Force this time and easily countered her assault. He pushed out against her and sent her flying back. Lightning escaped his fingertips and arced through the air, quickly following and connecting with her body and she screamed.

She fell, writhing in pain as residual sparks fizzled out of her broken armor. 

Freasch didn't wait. 

He lifted a hand and raised her body off the ground with the Force to meet him face to face. His blistering yellow eyes glared at her with a sadistic grin and he could smell the fear.

He caressed her face with the other hand and poked a thumb into her prosthetic eyelid, forcefully pulled it apart.

"...and no eyelids."

He threw her back down on the ground and stepped on her back.

"You're Rakhis' little pet, aren't you?" he hissed at her.

Kallig bristled, struggling under the Force he exerted on her back, trying to wriggle free and reach her lightsaber. 

"No, no, don't deny it. He loved to brag about his prized specimen," Freasch spoke conversationally. "The Voidwalker project was supposed to be his crowning achievement."

He reached out his hand and commanded the lightsaber to rise into the air, floating into his grip. 

"And this is too old be yours," he spat, "slave."

Kallig tore at the ground, trying to break free but as soon as she felt the Force on her back lifted, Freasch unleashed his burning red blade dangerously close to her face.

"And you call yourself, Lord?" he spat. "Pathetic."

Kallig rolled away from him, dragging herself up onto her feet to run. He could feel the air around him growing cold as the Force energy was sucked away.

"Oh no, you don't..." He gripped her throat in an invisible claw and lifted her up again, watching her choke.

"Maybe I should keep you?" he grinned sadistically as she struggled. "But considering what happened to Rakhis, I think I'll just dissect your corpse."

And then she smiled.

Freasch barely had time to block the gigantic vibroblade that came crashing down on top of him. It sizzled into his lightsaber, sending sparks every which way and he dropped Kallig so he could redouble his grip.

With a grunt and a massive push, he managed to parry the crushing force and jump out of harm's way. He spun around to find an enormous alien, more muscle than man, a hefty blade in his arms, almost as tall as he was.

"A Dashade?" Freasch spat.

"Well, today is just full of surprises," he grinned, reaching out with both hands to grasp at the very ground they stood on. It rumbled and cracked and worried in his clutches. And before Kallig and the beast could move out of harm's way, he tore three giant chunks out of the broken plains and lifted them up into the sky. 

His enemies scrambled to stay on foot but just as they managed to stand, Freasch let the high ground fall.

All three chunks came crashing down and Kallig could do little but shield herself and her companion. But Freasch wasn't going to let it slide. Up close, she had an advantage, but from a distance he could keep her on the defensive.

"Hup!" he shouted to the creatures who'd been circling around the duel, waiting for his command.

They launched into action and targeted Kallig and the Dashade as they climbed out of the rubble. Some blue lightning sparked from her haphazardly thrown hands and coiled around a panther-like creature Freasch had fashioned out of a rebel general's brain and some spare parts. The black veins pulsated and glowed with each strike of lightning but it wasn't enough to cripple it.

Kallig pulled out two more lightsabers as the other creatures attacked them. They ignited into pure white blades which hissed as the rain fell and sizzled into the flesh of a reptilian bear hound.

Freasch sought to divide her from the Dashade. Waiting for the hideous hulk to lift his vibroblade high into the air before using the Force to freeze it in place, giving the creatures an opening.

But the Dashade simply let go of the blade and ripped into the twin viper wolves with its bare claws. They wrestled into the ground and Freasch let the blade fall but the Dashade was surprisingly quick for its size. He rolled away, letting it impale one of the hounds and Kallig quickly rushed in to dispatch the other.

"Shoot them!" Freasch ordered, sensing the tables turning.

He mustered his anger and frustration into existence and threw his arms forward, sending more lightning pouring at the Sith and her pet.

The Imperials began to fire but far less enthusiastically than before, terrified of accidentally hitting Lord Freasch again and some only pretended to shoot.

Kallig crossed her sabers and blocked out the lightning as the Dashade picked up his vibroblade, shielding them from the incoming blasterfire. Freasch could see her eyes glowing violet and there was a power emanating from her that hadn't been there before. It grew and spread and consumed the young Sith and she let it out with a scream, sending a wave of Force energy pulsing out from herself.

It flung the Imperials back and nullified Freasch's attack. He crossed his arms over his face to withstand the impact and when the dust cleared, he could see his advantage had been swept away. 

Kallig stood fast, radiating fury with the Dashade by her side and Freasch finally realized where the power was coming from.

"You feel it too?" he panted. "The power of this place." 

He paced with his lightsaber in hand.

"The Dark Side swells inside this planet." He breathed in, sucking the energy right out of ground, so slick and wet with blackened blood. "It's rotten to its very core."

His free hand curled into a wicked claw and gathered darkness in its grasp.

"The dead linger here, live here and are reborn," he hissed. "Do you feel it, slave?"

"More than you will ever know," she said. 

"Ha!" he laughed. "Is there a Dark Lord whispering in your ear? Telling you to murder and maim? Are you too weak to control him?"

"He says you are arrogant," Kallig sneered, locking her blades together at the hilt. 

She twirled the saberstaff into a battle stance.

"And that you will fall." 

Freasch shook his head. 

"Foolish child," he sighed. "I see your potential. Rakhis saw it too. But it won't be enough to save you..." 

He pulled a vial of dark black elixir out of his robes and uncorked it, angrily sculling the contents before smashing it on the ground.

"This is what true power looks like!" he roared, his voice deepening as the alchemical concoction took effect. 

It raced through his body and his muscles swelled to thrice their size, tearing his robes and deforming his shoes. The veins on his neck bulged and blackened and his eyes burned away into yellow sclera. He pulled out his lightsaber and the one he'd taken from Kallig. The hilts were barely long enough for his now massive fists but he ignited both blades and roared with fury.

Kallig sneered again but didn't lose focus unlike the Imperials and Danislans who scrambled far, far away from the monstrosity Freasch had made of himself. A cloud of darkness and lightning emanating from his body.

He pushed off the ground and flew into a massive Force leap that cleared the distance between them in seconds. The red and violet blades came crashing down either side of Kallig's saberstaff and Freasch pushed down with his darkness enriched arms, his strength five times that of what it had been before.

Kallig parried the blows and threw him back with a Force push of her own, her eyes wide open and violet, glowing and fierce as she twirled the blade and leapt around Freasch looking for an opening. But he didn't give her one, sweeping and slashing at her, countering with a speed far greater than he had exhibited earlier. 

The Dashade charged into the fray, brandishing his massive vibroblade in an obvious slice but the power behind it was considerable. Freasch blocked him with one blade and parried Kallig's blow with the other, locked on both sides until a jolt of lightning broke their stalemate.

He spun into a twister of Force energy which sent him soaring into the air, ready to pulverize them when he fell back down. The ground quaked under his fists and the invisible Force energy surged out from him as it had from Kallig, throwing them back.

Seeing an opportunity, Freasch rushed in with both lightsabers raised, lightning sparking down the blades of plasma, deadly and unforgiving. He slammed them down on Kallig who blocked with her saberstaff grunting with the effort, her own fingers sizzling with electricity, evaporating in the rain.

She kicked and fought and spun and parried his blows but he was wearing her down, and every now and then, the Dashade would swing his massive vibroblade at Freasch who blocked him and threw him back. 

"Away with you!" he snarled as the alien came at him one more time and flung the creature away with a Force push of intense magnitude.

"Khem!" Kallig yelled, distracted for a moment.

Freasch saw the opportunity and rammed her with an equally massive Force push she couldn't avoid. She slid back through the slippery muck which had formed over the ground, panting and shivering, her energy spent.

"Don't tell me you actually care for the beast," Freasch chuckled sadisticly.

"You're one to talk," she snarled back. 

Freasch let out a great guffaw that echoed over the Julanti Plains like the roar of thunder without a flash, dark and throaty. It chilled all to the bone, and the stench of fear emanated from all around him.

"You think I care about these pathetic wastes?!" He lifted an oversized foot and stomped on the viper wolf's skull with a deafening crack.

"There's more where they came from. Thousands more!" he growled. "All writhing under the ground over there!" He pointed to the Sanctuary with his lightsaber.

"I'll make more! I'll create armies like you've never seen! The galaxy will know fear! THEY WILL KNOW HIERONYMUS FREASCH!" he shouted at her, Dark energy swelling around him in palpable clouds and electrical currents. 

"No," Kallig said, twirling her lightsaber into a different form. 

"You will die," he told her, his voice no longer Human, no longer Sith. Other.

"No," she repeated and threw herself forward with lightning fast speed. No hesitation, no fear, only power. But before he could lunge at her in kind, a whisper hissed past his ear.

And then, he was gone.


	32. Improvisation

Freasch's head exploded into a hundred tiny pieces as the headshot found its target. Zsora thrust her lightsaber through his swollen chest, tearing away the ragged robes and slicing his body in half. She spun and twirled the saberstaff, cutting at his body again and again to make sure he was dead, to make sure there was nothing left that could return.

And then she stopped.

Panting, wheezing, aching, bleeding. She tried to breathe, looking down at the corpse. But she couldn't collapse. She couldn't just lay down and rest. She needed to show strength. The Imperials would follow. She just needed to show strength.

She switched off her lightsabers and clipped them back on to her belt, reclaiming Polgax's with a shaky hand and a little help from the Force.

The Imperials were gathering around her now. They had witnessed the battle. And so had the Danislans. She could feel their relief at Freasch's demise, but she could also feel their fear.

They feared her now. More than ever.

Zsora stood tall as the rain cleared up, leaving the sky grey and overcast, brooding until its next release. The blood on her face began to dry and she licked her lip thirstily, longing for water.

"You!" She pointed at an Imperial Commando. "Who's in charge of these forces?"

The man jumped a little, taken aback but readily replied, "C-colonel Broller, my Lord!"

"Bring him before me," she said, trying to look tall and intimidating instead of tired and beaten.

The commando muttered something into his wristlink and heard some reply through his ear piece.

"He's on his way, my Lord," the terrified soldier reported.

"Good, now the rest of you, find my Dashade," she commanded.

They all looked at each other quizzically.

"The muscly alien with a big sword?" She raised an eyebrow. "He flew off that way."

"Ah, at once, my Lord," he saluted and went about organizing a search party.

Zsora climbed out of the crater and looked out over the Julanti Plains and the nightmarish graveyard it now resembled. It was worse than Taris. And she couldn't help feel a little guilty for failing to show up any earlier. Perhaps all of this could have been avoided if she had gotten there on time.

She looked up at the shattered cliffside and the reluctant Resistance fighters who were hidden by the remains of the forest, their curious faces peering down at the Imperials and the new management, fearful of what was to come.

Just then, Colonel Broller arrived on a speeder convoy. Evidently, he'd been travelling with the Command Center that brought up the rear.

He was a stern man with sandy hair and faded blue eyes, neither tall nor short, but not a fool either. He'd stayed well out of Freasch's way.

"My Lord." He bowed to Zsora. "You summoned me."

"Yes," she said. "You lead these men?"

"My Lord Freasch led these men," he said carefully, eyeing the pieces of his corpse on which Zsora stood.

"And without him, you lead, yes?" She narrowed her piercing blue eyes.

He nodded reluctantly, bracing himself for a brazen display of lightning and Force power but none came.

"Will you accept my command?" she asked him sternly.

Broller gulped.

"W-we serve the Sith, my Lord," he stuttered.

"And the Empire," he said more surely.

"Good," Zsora said. "Then I want all the Danislans rounded up and transported back to Caralis for processing."

"Ah, y-yes, my Lord." He bowed. "But, uh... I don't believe they will come quietly."

"Leave that to me," she said, stepping away from the Colonel.

Zsora breathed in deeply and brought the palms of her hands together before her. She slowly gathered the dregs of Force energy remaining inside and released it in a wave that spread out over the Julanti Plains, feeling, sensing, searching for her savior.

Every stone, every body, every drop of rain.

She saw, she felt, she was.

Until she found him.

"There," she said, reaching a hand out through the Force and grabbing him by the collar.

A rebel officer came drifting out from the debris beneath the ruined cliff, clutching a rifle tightly in one hand. He struggled against the invisible force which had picked him up by the scruff of his neck, kicking and lunging to little effect.

The Danislans saw the distinctive flutter of Mada's coat, stained with black but easily recognizable from a distance. He was floating towards the Sith with great speed and many of the Resistance fighters rushed down the rubble to save him.

They scrambled through the rock and left their leafy hiding places, revealing their worried faces as the Lieutenant drifted straight into Lord Kallig's outstretched claw. She closed her hand around his throat and raised him up off the ground.

He grunted and fidgeted in her grasp.

_"It-it's me," _he muttered under his breath.__

_"I know,"_ she said. _"Dangle for me, would you? Make it look convincing?"_

He sighed and started pretending to choke. He flailed his legs and pulled at force on his neck and the Danislans ate it up. They cried out for her to stop. To let him go.

And then she smiled.

"SURRENDER!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the Plains. "AND HE WON'T BE HARMED, NONE OF YOU WILL BE HARMED!"

The rebels who'd bared their teeth just moments ago began to second guess their initial intentions. They looked to one another, to their leaders and to their Lieutenant who struggled to breathe in her grasp.

 _"Is it working?"_ he muttered through the charade.

 _"Shh,"_ she silenced him, _"you're doing great."_

A murmur went up through the crowd of Danislans emerging from the forest. They pondered and contemplated and mulled it over.

And then they cracked.

"I SURRENDER!" the first of them yelled, popping out of a bush.

He hurriedly made his way down the unwieldy ramp created by the destroyed cliffside. A few of the Danislans tried to stop him but he slapped them away and ran across the Plains, pausing every few metres to stop himself from wretching until he made it all the way over to where Zsora was standing.

"I surrender!" he said, throwing down his blaster. "Now let him go!"

"Kneel," the Sith growled.

And he collapsed to his knees, panting and out of breath.

"Good," she said, releasing the Lieutenant who wasn't expecting it and convincingly flopped down beside him.

He coughed loudly, pretending to breathe like he'd just been choked.

"Lieutenant! Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Erik," he wheezed. "You shouldn't have..."

"We have to," Erik interrupted. "There's no other way."

Soon, the curious Danislans who witnessed the release of their Lieutenant began warily making their way down. Zsora watched as Cipher Nine played the reluctant rebel leader, trying to discourage Erik from surrendering.

"We can't give up like this..." he tried to say.

"We can't fight them, Lieutenant," Erik wheezed, clutching at his heart. "There are too many. We thought you were dead."

"I ordered you to _retreat."_

"Sergeant Tulsey retreated and then we came back. We came back for you."

"You shouldn't have. You should have..." he coughed violently.

He was very good at his work, she had to admit. After a few minutes, even Zsora started to believe him.

By the time he pretended to be convinced, the rest of the Danislans had gathered around. They watched as he stood up and dusted himself off, waiting for his command.

"What should we do, sir?" one of the Sergeants asked worriedly.

Mada looked up. His pale green eyes searching for something behind them. He gazed up over the Sanctuary. Over the forest, into the sky where a tiny dropship was visibly shrinking into the distance.

And then he sighed.

He turned to Lord Kallig and said, "I would like to negotiate the terms of our surrender."

Zsora nodded.

"Very well," she said. "Colonel, have the men bring around a med-van and see to the wounded."

" _All_ the wounded," she impressed.

"You'll come with me." She waved.

He followed.

"Is there somewhere we can speak in private?" she asked the Colonel.

"The field command center should be suitable, my Lord," Broller nodded to the armored convoy moving in beside them.

"Very good."

The big chromium vehicle pulled up and ejected its magnapeds, crushing the corpses that lay beneath. Several Imperial officers exited the craft, followed by the pilot and Zsora raised her head high as she marched inside.

"Lieutenant..." Erik called out as he turned to leave. "Are you really going in there alone?"

Mada looked at him sadly.

"He's right, sir," Tulsey pushed through the crowd. "Someone should go with you."

"Thank you," he said, "but I doubt any of you can protect me now."

The Danislans gazed back at him worriedly. His coat was torn and bloodied black and his arm hung limply at his side. There was nothing left but to let him go and Soren put on his most dire expression of hopelessness before turning to follow Zsora into the armored van.

The door slid shut behind him and he sighed out of the charade, checking the van for surveillance equipment before speaking.

"Impressive," Zsora said, collapsing into a comfortable revolving chair. "You really cleaned house."

"I didn't think you were coming," the Agent replied wearily, leaning against the wall.

"I made you a promise."

"I don't put much stock in promises," he told her, peeling off his coat and examining his wounds.

The stealth field generator on his collar flickered and he pulled it off, dissolving the facade which hid his face. His eyes glowed bright red in the dim light as he examined the wound on his arm.

"That looks painful," Zsora noted.

"You don't look too good either," he muttered.

"It's been a long day," she said, sinking down further.

"It's only the beginning," he said, looking around the interior of the vehicle with his fiery eyes, searching for a medkit. It wasn't long before he located one and began pilfering the contents for first aid.

"I told the Colonel I want all the Danislans rounded up and taken to Caralis," she told him as he examined her head. "How many are there?"

Soren wiped away the blood on her forehead and filled the cut with medigel and kolto.

"34,773."

Zsora looked up at him in surprise.

_"So many?"_

"It wasn't my idea."

"The SIS?"

The Chiss froze. He stared down at her, dark shadows spilled over his face and his voice gained an icy edge.

 _"No one can know,"_ he said as calmly as a storm.

 _"I_   need to know." She stared back at him intensely. "Have you defected?"

He didn't reply. He didn't blink, didn't move, didn't breathe as she searched the Force for an answer.

But he barely had a lick of it in him.

That mind. The mind which had concocted this elaborate scheme was still and quiet. As lifeless as the corpses she'd seen outside but his eyes... she could see the thoughts racing through them.

"I'm not going to kill you," she said.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Forgive me, if I don't find that reassuring," he frowned.

"I could have killed you several times now," she said. "I haven't."

The eyes narrowed. Cold, calculating, assessing. His deep blue face almost invisible in the darkness of the mobile command center's interior.

"I could have ordered the Danislans to be executed," she said. "I haven't."

"And you need me to convince them to come to Caralis with you. A workforce of over thirty thousand slaves for the Empire which you conveniently deliver in Lord Freasch's stead."

"They won't be slaves if they defect. They can become citizens of the Empire. They can go home," she said. "Erik can go home."

The Chiss lowered his inquisitive eyebrow.

"I don't care about Erik," he said. "My mission on Danisla is complete. I have no reason to stay or shepherd these people through the coming storm. And I most certainly don't like being accused of treason."

"Then you're still Imperial?" Zsora brightened.

"I'm undercover with the SIS," he said, patching the wound on her head. "That's more than you need to know."

Zsora smiled.

"Cipher Nine - man of mystery..." She winked.

He took a deep breath and Zsora could swear he was rolling his eyes but there were no pupils for her to tell by.

"The Empire is generous to the useful," she said encouragingly. "You would be well rewarded for your assistance."

The Chiss stretched her arm out and thread his fingers through the folds in her robes, searching for her scapula.

"You're going to need medical attention..." he muttered.

Zsora grabbed his hand and pulled him close.

"Help me," she said.

"Like I have a choice," he whispered, removing his hands.

He stepped away and turned to face the door, his arms folding over one another.

"34,773," he repeated. A hand drifted up to his face in thought.

"Watcher 66 told me the rains will be coming soon..." Zsora remembered. "We'd need some way to transport them all to Caralis before then."

"Transportation isn't the issue. Nor is time, now that Freasch is out of the picture. With the 12th Regiment under your temporary command, we have the resources we need."

"So what _is_ the issue?" she asked.

"Motivation."

"I told you, you'll be well compensated-"

"Not mine," he said. "The refugees."

He turned to look at her.

"The soldiers will follow my orders but you won't get the Danislans out of the Sanctuary with a Regiment of Imperials and a Sith."

"They'd rather die?"

"They're superstitious to a fault." He inclined his head. "They won't follow you. Even if they don't fight, they'll starve to death on principle..." he reflected absently, his thumb brushing past his lip.

Zsora sighed, swivelling the chair around to look at a blank viewscreen nearby. She saw her reflection in the darkness of it smooth surface, the holoprojector dormant and mute.

She looked awful.

The Agent had wiped away the blood on her face but it still smeared her hair and armour. Her gloves were charcoal in her hands, sizzled to a crisp by lightning and saber. She might look like a demon to a primitive species. Or a hateful god.

She found her hands drifting into her pockets, looking for something to fidget with while her mind was pre-occupied. She felt the warmth of the emerald keystone in her hand as she touched it. The gem was embued with great power and darkness but to Zsora? It was a paltry trinket she tumbled between her fingers, tracing the edges with child-like wonder.

The Agent's fiery eyes darted across the room.

"What's that?" He approached curiously.

"Hmmm?" She sat up. "Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you."

The Agent swiped it from her with a quick hand, examining the gem in the faint light of the overhead lamps.

"Hey! Give it back, that's dangerous!" She tried to take it from him but the Chiss sidestepped her lunge and she fell.

"Interesting..." He examined it.

"Are there more of these?" He looked at her expectantly.

"Urgh." Zsora picked herself up. "Yeah."

She put her hands in her pockets and fished out two more gems for him to snatch.

"Mmm..." he murmured, eyes narrowed and curious. "Can you make them hover?"

"What, like this?" she said, lifting up a hand.

The three gems floated up in front of him in a triangle formation and rotated slowly clockwise.

"Perfect," he said.

"What is?"

The Chiss pulled out a battered holocommunicator and tapped at the buttons.

"Do you know what this is?" he asked as a projection formed on top of the device.

It was a humanoid shape but deformed and covered in many layered robes. Dark blotches circled its eyes and covered its face, long hair extending into all direction like beams from a sun. A strange image, ambiguous enough to be mistaken for a certain Sith Lord holding an almost identical trio of gems suspended in mid-air.

Zsora shook her head. "Is it an alien?"

"This is the Danislan deity of fate," he told her. "Karthnak."

"This is how we get them to Caralis..."


	33. The Fall

The cold and damp of the stone floor was soothing against the burns on Jaeden's skin. He groaned as the pain radiated through him anew, quickly carving paths of heat through his body.

He reached into the Force, eager for its healing touch but the energy around him was far from soothing. It rattled through the air, hissing and spitting as he tried to manipulate it, guide it, wield it. But the Force did not listen. It did not bend to his gentle pleas and he sensed the darkness it harboured within. The darkness that threatened to seep into his soul.

He sat up abruptly, banishing those gathering tendrils from going any further. There was still Light inside him, enough to hold back temptation, enough to keep the Dark Side at bay. But for how long?

He felt the ground with his hands, splashing through puddles and rubbing over coarse stone. The squelchy texture of moss made him second guess but then he found the crease between the floor and the wall. There wasn't much difference in composition but he leaned into it and stood up.

His hands traced the four walls and locked door of his underground prison. He could feel the same darkness that permeated through the Danislan roads, multiplied exponentially and he knew for certain, that he was inside the Citadel.

His mind suddenly recalled his last few moments of consciousness. The supply cache. The warehouse. The trap the Imperials had laid.

The Resistance was betrayed.

And the traitor could only be someone who knew about the plan. Someone who knew the Imperials or had contact with them.

"Erik Serth," Vae'lo seethed.

He didn't have proof but he knew Serth was an Imperial sympathizer, his memories had revealed that much. But Mada had vouched for him and now he was trapped, half of Red Team was dead and the others were likely detained in cells much like his own, if they weren't being tortured first.

Jaeden took a deep breath, forcing the Dark thoughts out of his mind. He could feel them slowly creeping back in despite his best efforts and sat down to meditate on his predicament.

He pictured the Jedi Temple on Tython. The humble room where his Master Sebron meditated every day, still and quiet as though he were asleep. However, when Jaeden tried to sneak away, his robes would miraculously trip him up and leave him spreadeagled on the floor.

"Meditation is an important skill, young one. Reflecting on one's past will help you avoid making the same mistakes in future."

It was sage advice which Jaeden remembered receiving but implementing it was far more difficult. Still, the memory of the Temple and his Master brought light and feeling into his dark prison.

The Force around him grew docile and placid. He reached into it, tapping the interconnected energies which rippled through the world, touching every object in cascade. And somewhere, out in the darkness, out in the abyss which he couldn't see were three familiar energies.

Hunager, Polso and the Krag.

Prone. And in pain.

Crackling. Elecricity.

A voice.

_"What do you know about the Rakata device?"_

The words were shrill and piercing. Just as the screams that followed.

Jaeden stirred. They needed him. They needed his help.

He was on his feet before he could hear any more. His hand reached his belt only to discover his lightsaber was missing. His robes were torn and burnt but Jaeden was determined.

He gathered what energy he could and stepped up to the door, unleashing a powerful Force Kick which rattled the stone cell to its very core but failed to break it open.

He slapped the stone, pushing through the Force to destroy the barrier but there was something unnatural about the door, something Dark.

Jaeden grit his teeth and lunged at it again, kicking the stone and shaking the cell without success.

Suddenly, the muffled voice of an irritable Imperial made its way through the door.

"Can't open it, can you?" he jeered on the other side. "Foolish Jedi whelp."

Jaeden caught the man's presence in the Force and traced his silhouette. His energy was pulsing with menace but what was strong in the body was often weak in the head.

The Jedi stepped back and performed another powerful Force kick on the door which shook the walls and floor like an earthquake, irritating the guard even further.

"You can kick all you like," grumbled the man on the other side. "Nothing but my blood can unlock this door."

"Hmmm," Vae'lo contemplated.

Then he heard the cries through the Force once again, of pain and agony as the rebels were shocked and prodded and cut.

"You will open this door," the Jedi said, raising a hand.

"Nice try," he replied to Jaeden's surprise. "Mind tricks won't work on me."

"You're Force Sensitive," he realised.

"Now you're getting it. Darth Levinus knows how to deal with you lot."

Jaeden frowned but his determination was permacrete.

"You will open this door," he said forcefully.

"You're as clueless as a Tukata on Tatooine."

_"You will open this door."_

"Only when Lord Levinus bids it," the Sith replied frankly.

Jaeden paused.

He reworked his plan and reached out once again.

"I am Lord Levinus," he said. "Open this door."

"Haha, nice try," the man jeered.

Jaeden put both hands on the door and closed his eyes. The Force gathered around him as he concentrated, wrestling it into submission.

 _"I am Lord Levinus,"_ he said, trying to pierce through the guard's Dark shell. _"You will open this door."_

"I liked it better when you were asleep."

Jaeden cursed himself and beat his fist against the wall. He was too weak to turn the Sith. And there was even more Dark power securing the cell. He couldn't do this alone. He couldn't save them.

Hunager, Polso, the Krag.

He could hear them screaming, feel their Life Force fading away. All but a shred of consciousness remained but none of them had-

_"...I'll tell you! I'll tell you everything! Just make it stop..."_

It was Polso.

So many years and so many fights and so much courage and bravery but all of it had come to a pitiful end.

Jaeden bristled.

"No," he said angrily. "No."

A new energy found him, sizzling and hot, burning through his veins, tracing the lightning scars on his flesh. It filled up his mind with purpose and resolve and unquenchable thirst.

"NO!" he roared, grappling with the Dark power of the cell.

His fingers clawed at the stone, sinking deeper and deeper until he felt them burning. Sparks flew as he scraped at the Dark energy. It gathered and pulsed and threw him back.

He landed on the cold wet floor but he didn't stay there.

If the door wanted blood then he would feed it.

His hands twisted into claws and latched onto the Force surrounding the Sith behind the door. He only had one shot. One chance.

An immeasurable risk. A poor solution. A mistake, perhaps.

But Jaeden accepted it.

The burden would be his to bear.

The Dark energy rippled all around him, feeding him, calling him, asking for blood.

And through the Force, he obliged.

The Sith was wrenched back, headfirst into the door.

A resounding crack sounded as his skull smashed into stone. Jaeden felt the man slump and slide down the wall. The Force left his body and disturbed the air, adding to the already putrid stench of the Dark Side.

Jaeden winced and closed his eyes.

He hated taking lives but it was necessary if he wanted to save the rebels. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last, he tried to remind himself. But the blood seeping in into the chamber made him think otherwise.

It poured and pooled, tracing a symbol carved into the ground. A glowing red sigil was activated, pulsing and fading before the door rumbled and slid aside and Jaeden saw the body of the man he'd slain.

He wasn't much older and his robes were quite plain. Not a Lord of the Sith but a fledging apprentice to their Dark ways. Surprise painted his face innocent of the crimes he'd committed throughout his life and Jaeden swallowed.

He was the murderer.

 _"...the Sanctuaries..."_ he heard a distant cry that broke him out of his contemplations.

"I need this," he said apologetically, unclipping the lightsaber on the Apprentice's belt.

_"...the forest..."_

The words were mere whispers but Jaeden heard them and followed them out of the labyrinthine cells under the Citadel. He clung to the shadows without difficulty, gripping the stolen saber tightly in his fist.

He saw more guards coming and hid in an alcove as they passed him by. Not Sensitive nor alert to his escape and entirely certain there were no Jedi wandering the halls. They didn't really concern Jaeden as he climbed the staircase out of the Dark cells. He feared the Sith who would come if he revealed his presence, if anyone sensed the disturbance he'd made in the Force. But no one seemed interested in the Apprentice's death.

The Dark Force energy of those lower levels was suffocating and Jaeden breathed a little easier as he entered the Danislan-made halls of the former High Council Chambers. He followed the pained call of the rebels and hastily snuck through the halls, knocking a few soldiers unconscious before they could spot him.

Soon the screams grew fuller, more bodied.

He was hearing them with his own his ears now.

Jaeden pressed on, hurrying as fast as stealth would allow, following the sounds of torture. He could feel the echoes of agony rippling through the Force as the remote activated and released another jolt of electricity from its spindly arm.

"...please... no more..." the exhausted words followed a scream.

"Where is the Rakatan device?" his Inquisitor repeated.

Rakatan? Jaeden had never heard of such a thing. And more importantly, neither had Polso.

"I don't know what it is..." he whimpered.

Jaeden was there.

A single door divided him from the prisoners. A door he unlocked with a stolen code cylinder.

It slid open quietly and the Jedi barrelled through it, throwing his hands forward in a whirlwind of Force energy which caught the Inquisitor by surprise.

The Sith was shaken and stumbled while his assistants were thrown against the steely wall. The Imperials were knocked unconscious but the Inquisitor stood tall, glaring at Jaeden with his eerie yellow eyes. He began to summon lightning and the Jedi unleashed the lightsaber in his hand, its blade a deep blood red.

Tendrils of lightning snapped through the air and Jaeden blocked with his lightsaber, slicing it in half. The energy sizzled and tore as the Force around him swelled but he held true. He pushed back. Two strong hands gripped the hilt of the borrowed blade tightly. He felt it hum and whine as it carved the lightning being spilled from the Inquisitor's hands.

And then it ceased.

The lightning faded and Jaeden could see the torture chamber in its entirety.

Durasteel walls and permacrete floors. Three tilt-tables racked with rebels still writhing as after-shocks ravaged their bodies. The Inquisitor stood tall and wide and exceedingly fat between them, his gloves sizzling and singed.

"I see you've taken Korlith's lightsaber," he smirked and his pale face creased unpleasantly. "Your hands reek of his blood."

Jaeden swallowed.

"He refused to release me."

"And your freedom was worth more than his life," the Inquisitor grinned, eyes bright and glowing.

"Their lives are worth more than his," Jaeden nodded at the rebels and raised the lightsaber into a fighting stance.

"Of course, they are." The Inquisitor lowered his hands. "But what of you?"

Jaeden frowned.

"I will save them."

"To what end?" the Inqusitor chuckled. "Do you really think you can escape this place dragging three men behind you?"

"Many things are possible through the Force," Jaeden recited his teachings. "I've come this far."

"Hmmm, I see the power of the Rakatan ruins is more potent than I thought," he pondered.

"The what?"

"You must have passed through them on your way here."

"The cell," Jaeden realized. "It would only open with the Apprentice's blood."

"Korlith?" the Inquisitor chuckled unplesantly. "The ruins require a blood offering, it's true, but they don't discriminate."

"Then I..."

"You smell of blood and death, little Jedi." The big man grinned. "I am Inquisitor Levinus," he said. "And I could use a new apprentice."

"Never!" Jaeden spat and launched into a forward flip.

He leapt through the air and spun the blade, coming down on the Inquisitor who raised his hand and a gust of wind rushed to meet him.

Jaeden grit his teeth but soon realized the Force was too strong for him to cut through. It forced him back and he flipped again, landing on his feet where he'd been only moments ago.

Levinus stepped forward, crimson robes trailing on the floor as he produced his own lightsaber. The blade ignited with a bright red light that dimmed Jaeden's stolen weapon considerably.

He heard the call of the Force. The hum and the whine. The darkness which tested him at every turn.

"Join me," the Inquisitor said. "Join me and discover true power."

Jaeden grit his teeth.

"No."

He ran and jumped out of the way of an incoming lightning bolt, darting in zigzags toward the Sith whose blade was beckoning him forward.

The face of Levinus was unimpressed.

Their blades met and screamed as the swords of light fought for dominance.

Jaeden held on with both hands and concentrated the Force onto his foe's blade but Levinus showed little strain. He lifted his free hand and grinned as electricity once again sparked from his fingertips.

Jaeden barely managed to leap back in time to avoid the lightning which filled the air. He spun around and rolled under the incoming stream to close the distance. A quick leap and he was on he feet, slicing down at the Sith who used his lightsaber to block.

They exchanged six quick blows but it soon became clear who was stronger and Jaeden leapt back to regroup, refocus, followed swiftly by several arcs of lightning. No sooner had he touched down, did he leap once again, landing on one of the upright tilt-tables and hopping over all three of them before the inquisitor could take aim.

Jaeden tossed the lightsaber into a spin and the burning red disc flew at his enemy while he flanked from the other side. His feet planted firmly into the ground and his hands pulled at the shelves attached to the walls. Their load was ripped from place and flew at the Sith in a shower of syringes and beakers and shockers; a storm of torture paraphernalia as the lightsaber approached him from the other side.

The Inquisitor cut short his lightning strike and brought forth the Force. It grew over him like a shadow and then pulsed through the torture chamber, rendering the incoming storm inert and Jaeden's lightsaber was harmlessly tossed aside. He shielded himself with his arms but the Force was stronger than he anticipated and he couldn't help being thrown off his feet.

He hit the wall hard, just as the Imperials had and collapsed between them, tired, broken.

"Not bad," Levinus said, his voice distorted through the Force. "A shame you resist the power that calls to you."

Jaeden pulled himself up onto his elbows but another pulse of the Force flooded the torture chamber, pulling whimpers and muted screams from the rebels who remained awake by the will of the Sith Lord.

The young Jedi fell back again. The light inside felt like a pebble in an ocean of darkness as he fought to protect it, preserve it.

"Give in to the darkness," Levinus growled. "Let it feed you, let it give you strength..."

"No," Jaeden groaned. "There is no emotion, there is peace."

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion," the smug words echoed through the chamber.

Jaeden looked up but there was only the silhouette of the Sith to be seen, outlined in red, his hand outstretched, beckoning. He closed his eyes, trying to concentrate, trying to draw on the energy of Light.

"There is no-" he began but the Dark Force pulsed through the room once again and threw him back.

He was pinned to the wall and the Inquisitor stepped forward, his sadistic grin outlined in red.

"Still alive, I see." His outstretched hand tightened the grip around Jaeden's neck.

The Jedi kicked and pulled at the Force, fighting to his last breath.

"So strong," Levinus growled, coming closer to watch. "And so proud."

The hand constricted his airways but Jaeden used the Force to keep the passage open, gasping to stay alive.

"You would have made an excellent Sith," he said. "Too bad they left your training to a simpleton."

"What?" Jaeden wheezed.

"Only Sebron could muzzle a power such as yours," he said, pushing Jaeden harder against the wall, crushing his throat. "What a fool."

The memory of his master stirred within Jaeden's mind. Brave. And loyal to the Republic. Kind and wise beyond time. Thoughtful and caring for every creature in the galaxy. But never, had he ever, been-

"A fool?" he muttered.

"And a liar." Levinus sneered. "The Dark Side is far more powerful than anything the Jedi could ever hope to muster."

Jaeden squirmed in the Sith's steely grasp, anger burgeoning at the mention of his old master.

"Master Sebron was far more powerful than you," he hissed through his teeth.

"No," Levinus growled. "He died the pathetic death he deserved and his body was used for scrap by Lord Freasch. Your master became nothing but a slathering beast."

Jaeden grit his teeth and stretched out his hand. He pulled at the Force all around him, feeling it crackle beneath his hand.

"You're the beasts!" he hissed. "You don't deserve mercy."

The Sith Lord chuckled inside that otherworldly echo and lifted up his lightsaber to strike the killing blow.

"It's over."

"No!" the word travelled loudly from Jaeden's mouth and the saber lying derelict on floor rolled towards him briefly.

He pulled at the Force again, the Light and the abyssal Darkness which had been hammering away at his mind and it listened. It came.

The saber ignited and rushed to his hand, through the air, through the Force and with urgency, he grabbed it and sliced off the Sith's arm.

Levinus howled in pain. The darkness surrounding him receded for a moment to show the already corterized wound before engulfing his body again.

The Force around Jaeden's neck disappeared and he landed on his feet, quickly sidestepping the Sith to flank him. He gripped the hilt of his saber tightly and swung it around with all his might, the surge of energy guiding him into battle.

But the dark shadow pulsed through the chamber once more, stopping his blade from connecting with the Sith's head.

The Darkness washed over him like a wave but failed to throw him like it had before and Jaeden stood his ground, adrenaline and Force energy rushing through his body. He was a conduit, a beacon for its strength and he ran at the Sith Lord again with bloodcurdling scream.

Levinus sneered and picked up his saber with a shadowy arm. Both hands gripped the weapon tightly and held as it clashed with his enemy's might. They sizzled and spat in a firework of searing plasma and the Force howled through them, fighting for dominance.

Six quick blows were struck once again and Jaeden felt his power rivalled the Sith this time. He thrust and cut and sliced as his opponent parried and each blow only fuelled his anger, his fury.

"You'll pay!" he shouted through the screaming sabers. "You'll all pay!"

The shadowy form of Inquisitor Levinus faltered and the Darkness which he previously controlled alone, began to reconsider its allegiance.

Jaeden absorbed it all eagerly. The power. The feeling. The superiority. All the things he knew himself capable of but had never done before were now possible. And there was only one thing he wanted more.

"Master Sebron will be avenged!" he shouted and railed the Force forward, pushing the gigantic Sith back.

He gathered the darkness and thrust it forward, again and again, bashing the wall of shadows Levinus had constructed as a shield. He took a step, then another and another and finally moved close enough to strike.

All the power and energy built up in his hands and rattled through the burning red blade of his lightsaber. It crackled and spat and whined as it swung down on the shadowy form of Inquisitor Levinus, piercing the veil and tearing the flesh beneath.

He sliced at him again and again, feeding the Darkness which hungered for blood, for death and even after the Force escaped the Sith's body, his thirst for vengeance could not be contained.

He roared and threw back the charred and ruined corpse, sending it flying into the wall against which he was almost crushed. And then he remembered, that a moment ago, it was his death that the Sith was almost celebrating.

Jaeden looked down at his hands. At the spattering of blood and faint white cuts which had already sealed. The Force was throbbing through them, pulsing unlike the gentle healing touch was used to. The wounds pulled themselves together as fast as they could and left visible scars on the palms of his hands.

He looked at the corpse he had made of the enourmous Sith Lord, the pieces of his limbs nearby, and bile travelled up into his mouth.

He turned to find the rebels crushed against the tilt-tables to which they were lashed. Polso's skull had caved in and Hunager's eyes were missing. The smell of the dead assaulted his nostrils and there was blood, so much blood.

"...master... jedi..." the Krag wheezed through a broken jaw.

"Captain!" Jaeden rushed over. "I am so sorry. I couldn't control it. I-"

"No..." he breathed. "...save them..."

Jaeden reached through the Force, trying to shelter the last spark of life that remained in the Krag's broken body.

_"...please..."_

The light in his eyes faded and what was once a proud soldier became just another corpse.

Jaeden felt his essence linger and spill into the world.

"There is no death," he reminded himself. "Only the Force."

He closed his eyes and tried to find the Light inside, the gentle warmth that guided him, nurtured him all his life but instead he found a quiet fire. It stirred at his touch, hissing and snapping. Hostile and hungry. It yearned for more death, more power.

"No." He shook his head. "They were Sith. They were evil," he tried to tell himself. "They tortured these men." But then he turned to see the destruction his anger had caused.

The rebels were dead. The Imperials were dead. And it was his fault.

"Damn it," he cursed himself but then a shrill chirping filled his ears. A familiar sound. Almost like a holocall.

Jaeden closed his eyes and amplified the sound until he could hear it clearly.

 _"Come on, come on,"_ a woman muttered. _"Piece of Danislan junk."_

The Jedi followed the sound of her voice out of the torture chamber, down the corridor and into an adjacent room. There was a closed door separating him from the woman who was busy adjusting settings on the tempermental device.

The call finally went through and he heard the holoprojector activating followed by a relieved sigh.

"Cipher Nine," the woman said, "finally. I had feared the worst."

"Watcher Sixty-Six," a stern man replied. "Your suspicions were correct. Lord Freasch mounted an assault of the Sanctuary within hours of your warning."

"He couldn't leave well enough alone," she hissed through her teeth. "I told him Imperial Intelligence would handle it."

"It is difficult to reason with a Sith Lord. I do not begrudge you that failure."

"Wait, did you say Lord Freasch attacked the Sanctuary? In full force?"

"Yes," Cipher Nine replied frankly.

"And?"

"He is dead."

"H-how?" the Watcher stuttered in disbelief.

"Do you recall sending Lord Kallig into the mines beneath Mt Foane?"

"Yes..." Sixty-Six puzzled. "But she's not powerful enough to-"

"That assessment is apparently innaccurate."

"There's no way she took down that army by herself. Let alone Lord Freasch."

"Believe what you will, Watcher. I am currently on the march toward Caralis with thirty thousand Danislan refugees, half the twelfth Regiment and sixty Resistance Fighters. All Danislans have agreed to secede to the Empire."

"The entire Parretal Sanctuary?"

"Yes. And I don't think it will take much to convince the others. They will fall in line soon enough."

"How did you manage that?"

"At Lord Kallig's behest," Nine said calmly. "She bears a striking resemblance to the Danislan deity of fate, Karthnak. Once she presented herself to the Danislans' spiritual leaders, it was only a matter of packing up the wounded and entering the tunnels."

The holocall was interrupted with static and it took some furious button mashing on the Watcher's part to stabilize.

"I apologize for the poor quality of our connection," she said. "It seems we have a storm incoming."

"Yes, the rains are almost here. If the meteorological reports are accurate we should make it inside the city before the storm begins."

"Estimated time?"

"Three hours, twenty eight minutes," the Cipher replied. "What about your mission?"

"We had a few setbacks."

There was a cold silence as the Cipher Agent waited for her to elaborate.

"Inquisitor Levinus may have... interferred with the operation."

"Interferred how?"

"Well, ummm... he pulled rank," she admitted. "Took the operation for his own. I couldn't stop him."

"You weren't suppose to stop him," the Cipher said calmly. "You were supposed to let him have it."

"What?"

"You know how badly he wanted to torture the Krag," Nine pointed out. "It was obvious he would try to take the opportunity away from you."

"I-I see," Sixty-Six said.

"Is the Jedi taken care of?"

Jaeden's ears burned.

"No." The Watcher swallowed. "Unfortunately, Inquisitor Levinus has him locked up in the Rakatan tombs beneath the Citadel. Says he'll either emerge in glory or rot in filth." She shuddered. "Whatever that means."

"I expressly advised you to terminate Jaeden Vae'lo at the available first opportunity, Watcher," Nine said coldly. "There were to be no loose ends."

"I know but Levinus took him despite my protests. We lost four operatives on this mission, I figured it was only fair we create a Sith in return."

"No, what you have created is a problem," the Cipher said heartlessly. "Kill him before I get back." It was an order, not a request.

"That might be difficult," she began.

"More difficult than routing Freasch's forces?" he said testily.

Watcher Sixty-six sighed, reconsidering her position.

"No," she said. "It will be done."

"Good. I will continue to perpetuate my cover identity. You will address me as Lieutenant Nordren Mada when next we meet."

"Acknowledged and understood. Good luck, Cipher."

"Very," he said. "I'll see you soon."

The transmission cut out and the call ended. Jaeden could hear the Watcher leaning onto the terminal and taking a deep breath.

"Pull yourself together, Katelin," she muttered. "The hard part's over. I just have to..."

The door separating them was wrenched off its supports and crashed into the holoterminal.

The Watcher barely had time to duck and roll out of the way but her many years of training weren't wasted and she quickly drew a blaster, ready to shoot.

Though it didn't help.

The woman rose into the air, gripped at the throat by Jaeden who came striding into her little hidey hole.

"Looking for me?" he said, igniting the crackling red lightsaber. "Here I am."


	34. Trust Issues

Zsora was having the time of her life.  
  
Sure, there were still a few cuts and bruises that would sting whenever she moved around too much but right now, the comfortable seat in which she sat made her forget all those troubles.  
  
The Danislans had fashioned a sort of throne out of office chairs down in the Sanctuary and four of the priests were now carrying it through the tunnels on their shoulders. The way was clear and well-lit by Imperial troops and Zsora lounged about in the makeshift throne as they moved steadily towards Caralis. The priests began to sing of the greatness of their God, come once again to save them and many of the refugees followed.  
  
"I could get used to this." She smiled at the man walking beside her caravan with a datapad in his hand. But her words were left uncommented as he studied a map.  
  
"Hey," she psst. "Lieutenant."  
  
"Yes, your Emminence?" he replied without looking up.  
  
"How much longer?"  
  
"Are you not enjoying the ceremonial Song of Awakening, your Illustriousness?" one of the priests wondered.  
  
"Oh no, it pleases me greatly," Zsora said. "I'm just eager to conquer my great city once again." She made a sweeping gesture.  
  
"As are we, your Exhaltedness," the priests agreed. "Tell us, Lieutenant, the time till our great Lord reaches Caralis."  
  
He didn't look up.  
  
"Twenty eight minutes."  
  
"Excellent," Zsora announced, her voice buzzing through the shattered mask. "Onward."  
  
And so they continued.  
  
Zsora on her throne. The Danislan priests singing a hymn. An escort of Imperial troopers. Followed by the sea of refugees interspersed with soldiers, med-vans, assault vehicles and officers bringing up the rear.  
  
"Hmm," Lieutenant Mada uttered thoughtfully.  
  
"What is it?" Zsora asked, picking up on his contemplations.  
  
"There are some inconsistencies in the map."  
  
"Is that bad?"  
  
"No. We should be fine. But I'm going to check with Erik, just in case. Will you be alright without me?"  
  
"Of course," Zsora announced. "I give you leave to go." She waved her hand theatrically.  
  
"I was talking to Tulsey."  
  
"Oh," Zsora said, "yes, very good."  
  
"We'll be fine, Lieutenant," he said. "The Imperials seem to know their way through the tunnels here."  
  
Mada nodded. "I won't be long."  
  
He let the congregation move on without him and turned to brave the crowd of Danislans following their deity toward the city.  
  
"Praise be, Sethlos Karthnak," a man cried, casting his arms up into the air. "And blessings unto you, Lieutenant."  
  
"Uh, thank you," he said, brushing past. "Keep moving. Stay together."  
  
"Are we going home, mommy?" a little girl asked as he slithered through a family.  
  
"Yes, child," her mother said with a tearful eye. "Thanks to Lieutenant Mada."  
  
She reached out to embrace him and the little girl followed.  
  
"You have nothing to thank me for," he said, peeling them off.  
  
"Mada, you sly fox!" An old man clapped him on the shoulder painfully. "Taught these Imperials a thing or two, eh?"  
  
"So it would seem," Nordren laughed amiably, ducking under the incoming bear hug.  
  
"Lieutenant!" an excited young man called out, wading through the crowd.  
  
"Private Kesho," Mada said. "It is good to see you in one piece."  
  
"You too, sir. We thought for sure you were a goner."  
  
"Well, stranger things have happened today." He broke away but the boy followed him.  
  
"You can say that again, sir. The Imperials letting us go back to Caralis as citizens? Letting us elect our own governor? How did you manage to pull that one off?"  
  
"I haven't yet but Lord Kallig seems adamant that we can push the Empire into accepting our terms," Mada said.  
  
"Is she really Sethlos Karthnak?" the young Private persisted his questioning. "The god of fate? I always thought it was a man."  
  
"Does it matter?"  
  
"But that's insane, right?" Kesho continued. "It's just a myth, isn't it?"  
  
"I would have thought so too." The Lieutenant nodded. "But I am forced to believe otherwise."  
  
"Wooow."  
  
"Private, have you seen Roban Greyam anywhere?"  
  
"Uh, no, sir," Kesho replied dutifully.  
  
"See if you can track him down for me?" Mada said slyly. "Don't want the casualty list getting too long."  
  
"Of course, Lieutenant." Kesho saluted and disappeared amidst the Danislans in search of the missing man.  
  
Lieutenant Mada continued to squeeze past the approaching multitudes, politely greeting each of them in turn. He swam toward the slow moving med-van and knocked on the side.  
  
"Authorisation?" a droid vocabulated.  
  
"This is Lieutenant Nordren Mada of the Danislan National Guard. I'm looking for Erik Serth."  
  
There was some fumbling inside the van and the back door slid open. Nordren made his way around to it and climbed in without the vehicle stopping.  
  
It was one of the smaller Imperial field units, better equipped to deal with first aid than surgery or intensive care but the Danislans had made do. Or rather, Doctor Haldis had made do.  
  
She was kneeling beside an injured soldier whose heart rate did not meet her scrupulous standards.  
  
"He needs another 20 milligrams of melafedrone," she told the medical droid which remotely changed the dose on the IV.  
  
"Bellra?" Soren said out loud.  
  
She turned to look at him, her blonde ponytail swishing away.  
  
"Nordren." She smiled, eagerly picking her way through the overcrowded cots.  
  
He let her come to him, let her arms wrap around his waist. She leaned her head into his shoulder and he held her close.  
  
_"What are you doing here?"_   he whispered in her ear. _"I told you to leave."_  
  
_"I couldn't abandon them,"_ she said. _"I couldn't just let them die like that."_  
  
_"They would have killed you too."_  
  
"But they didn't." She looked up at him happily. "Because of you."  
  
Her hands reached up to touch his face but he stopped them.  
  
"Not here," he said, squeezing them gently.  
  
Bellra smiled.  
  
"You're right," she said. "There'll be time for that later. When we reach Caralis..."  
  
Soren forced himself to smile amiably but he was not looking forward to tying up this loose end.  
  
"I'm actually looking for Erik," he said.  
  
Bellra smirked.  
  
"You mean this idiot?" She pointed a thumb over her shoulder.  
  
Soren looked over it and spotted a weak looking man jammed into the corner at the far end of the van.  
  
"Lieutenant?" he wheezed.  
  
" _Someone_ decided to go for a run after having a heart attack," Bellra sneered. "Honestly..."  
  
"Erik," Nordren said with a small smile, making his way through the crowded car.  
  
"Still here, Lieutenant," he grinned meekly with a casual salute.  
  
"Yeah." Mada sighed. "Still here."  
  
"You did the impossible."  
  
Nordren frowned.  
  
"I got lucky," he said. "Real lucky. It was actually your idea to surrender to Lord Kallig."  
  
"As much as I would like to take credit," Erik coughed. "You deserve the kudos for this one."  
  
"If only it were so simple." He sat down on the floor beside him. "I need you to have a look at this." He brought out a datapad to show Erik.  
  
"Looks like a map of the tunnels."  
  
"It is. You recognise this part?"  
  
"Yes, it's the Eastern Highway," Erik said. "The one we never used because it was crawling with Imperials."  
  
"Exactly," Mada zoomed in on the road. "We should have encountered at least three garrisons by now." He pointed to the different positions.  
  
"I thought Lord Kallig contacted the Imperials and told them to expect us. Maybe they recalled their troops so we'd have a clear path?"  
  
"No," the Lieutenant said so coldly Erik almost shivered. "They were ordered to remain at their posts and assist us."  
  
"Well, I haven't seen anything from in here." Erik shrugged weakly.  
  
"We haven't encountered a single Imperial since we left the Sanctuary," Mada said thoughtfully.  
  
"What does that mean?"  
  
"I don't know." Nordren shook his head. "Did you hear anything while you were in the Citadel? Anything about rearranging troops or shifts?"  
  
"No," Erik said. "They knocked me out before they brought me in. And we left really quickly. All I heard was Lord Kallig talking about haunted mines. I figured she meant the Graveyard."  
  
"What about Imperial Intelligence? Did you see any of the Watchers?"  
  
"No..." Erik said. "What's going on, Lieutenant?"  
  
"I don't know," he said thoughtfully, a thumb brushing against his lip.  
  
The med-van hit a bump in the road and lurched unexpectedly, shaking and shifting the people inside. Erik hit his head against the wall and winced.  
  
"What was that?" he opened his eyes and for a split second, the Lieutenant's face turned blue before returning to its usual palor.  
  
"Lieutenant?" Erik said carefully.  
  
"Just a bump in the road, Erik," he said, rising. "We haven't stopped-"  
  
The med-van slowed to a halt.  
  
"-yet."  
  
Lieutenant Mada forced his way to the driver's compartment of the van and looked out the window. The people had stopped moving too. The Danislans were standing there, trying to get a glimpse through each other's shoulders.  
  
In the distance, he could see Zsora's throne sticking out of the crowd and the Sith Lord herself had risen to stand tall above the masses.  
  
Soren mashed the control panel and the windows opened, letting the outside world drift in. The sound.  
  
"Who goes there?!" Zsora bellowed through her broken mask.  
  
"I am Jaeden Vae'lo," the words echoed through the tunnel.  
  
_"Ktah,"_ Soren swore under his breath.  
  
"Move." He shoved the Imperial driving the van and climbed over him to crawl out the door. There were some loud complaints as he slammed it shut but it didn't matter. He had to get to Vae'lo before Zsora did.  
  
She wouldn't strike the first blow but if she killed Vae'lo? If she said anything that was counter-intuitive to the Karthnak'los religion without him there to smooth it over, the Danislans could turn on them. And then the Imperial soldiers would have no choice.  
  
The tunnels were narrow. There was nowhere to go. They would be slaughtered. Lieutenant Mada along with them.  
  
He had a choice, he realised as he pushed through the crowd.  
  
Shed the disguise, disappear, deny culpability.  
  
Or...  
  
"Why are you here?" Lord Kallig boomed, waving her hand theatrically.  
  
Soren shoved his way through the throng, faster and faster, practically climbing over them, leaving a trail of ruffled refugees behind.  
  
"I am here to save these people," the words rang out loud and clear.  
  
"A little late for that," Zsora quipped. "Or haven't you heard?"  
  
"How you defeated Freasch? How you impersonated the deity of these people for your own personal gain?"  
  
"How dare you speak to Sethlos Karthnak this way?" one of the priests hissed.  
  
"She has deceived you," Vae'lo said, pointing at the Sith. "Just as Lieutenant Mada has deceived you!"  
  
"Lieutenant Mada?" the whisper worried the lips of every man, woman and child, spreading like wildfire as Soren finally made his way to the front.  
  
"The traitor shows his face!" Vae'lo bellowed.  
  
"Master Vae'lo, I know this may seem terribly confusing-"  
  
"This man is an agent of Imperial Intelligence!" the Jedi roared. "He orchestrated this entire scheme, killed hundreds of innocents and betrayed the rebellion. He's an Imperial spy and he's deceived you all."  
  
Lieutenant Mada took a step forward into the Eastern Square. A similar structure yet not so ruined as its Western cousin. It was however, littered with the bodies of a hundred Imperial soldiers, glowing bright with burn marks visibly searing their armour.  
  
And in the centre stood a single man.  
  
His ragged robes were stained with blood and his eyes were bright and furious. In his hand, he held a lightsaber, but the blade glowed an eerie red instead of its usual blue.  
  
"I'm not sure what you mean," Lieutenant Mada said calmly. He brushed his tattered coat back and put a hand on his hip. "How could one man do all that you claim?"  
  
"You-" Jaeden began. "You-"  
  
"I've kept these people safe," Nordren said, turning to look at the crowd. He saw Lord Kallig and her priests, Tulsey and Forgan, Kelso, even Erik had appeared with Bellra's support.  
  
"I fought Lord Freasch with the Resistance," Lieutenant Mada said.  
  
"Yeah, he did," Sergeant Forgan nodded.  
  
"He was on the front lines," another soldier added.  
  
"Lord Freasch almost killed him," the bitter Colonel butt in.  
  
Nordren turned to look at Vae'lo.  
  
"Where is the rest of your team?" he asked the Jedi. "I sent Captain Kraglus and the others with you to Caralis. Where are they?"  
  
"They're... they're dead," Vae'lo said. "Because of you."  
  
"Because of me?" Mada put a hand to his chest.  
  
"Captain Kraglus volunteered," Tulsey said. "He wanted to lead the mission."  
  
"Mada hasn't left the Sanctuary in weeks."  
  
"You sent them in there!" Jaeden bellowed. "You sent them into a trap."  
  
"I was well aware of the risks," Mada said calmly. "As was the Krag and everyone else involved. As were you."  
  
"No! You lied to us. Imperial Intelligence knew we were coming. They killed everyone."  
  
"I'm sorry to hear that," Mada bowed his head. "Their sacrifice will not be forgotten, I assure you. But throwing blame around won't bring them back." He took a step toward the Jedi.  
  
"Jaeden, please," he said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Put down the lightsaber. Help us bring these people home."  
  
"No," Vaelo roared. "You're a liar. You've got everyone fooled but not me. You're a traitor! And she's a Sith!" He pointed his lightsaber at Zsora.  
  
"You're both in on it," he realised, his irises turning red. "You planned this together. It wasn't Erik. It was never Erik. It was _you."_  
  
The lightsaber hummed through the air and stopped right in front of Mada's face.  
  
"You," he said. "Admit it."  
  
"Jaeden, I don't-"  
  
"ADMIT IT!"  
  
Nordren sighed.  
  
"Look at yourself, Jaeden," he said. "You're injured, you're tired and you're hurt. Not in your body but in your heart." He put a hand over his chest.

"I know the Krag meant a lot to you. He meant a lot to all of us." He gestured at the people behind him. "But this isn't the way to grieve."  
  
Jaeden lowered the crackling red blade and looked at Mada. At the people that were watching his every move with concerned expressions. Not a one of them doubted the Lieutenant but what they thought of Jaeden was now quite reversed. He unclenched his jaw and the red glint in his eye dissipated.  
  
Mada reached out and put a hand on his shoulder.  
  
"What would Master Sebron think if he saw you right now?" he said.  
  
Jaeden had no words. Nothing would explain to the Jedi Master what he was feeling at that very moment and Soren knew it quite well.  
  
"Come," he said. "Let's get you cleaned up." He took a step toward the crowd. "We have a lot to catch up on."  
  
He could hear Jaeden's reluctant footsteps following. It had been easier than he anticipated. The Jedi may be powerful but even he couldn't pull the wool off the Danislans eyes after what they'd seen Lieutenant Mada do. He didn't have a leg to stand on and soon neither did Soren.  
  
  
  
  



	35. Best Intentions

Zsora watched the crackling red blade ignite but before she could summon the Force, it slashed through the Cipher's back and he collapsed onto the ground. The glowing red gash ran up his back and almost sliced him in half but there was no questioning its lethality.

"NOOO!" a blonde haired woman cried out, rushing to his side. She fell to the ground, hiding the flickering projection on his face and Zsora immediately understood.

"Braknas Odefar!" she shouted from her throne. It was the only thing she remembered from Cipher Nine's long and boring explanation about Sethlos Karthnak. He had a rival in the stories, an enemy. And the Danislans knew his name well.

"My Lord," Colonel Broller said, "permission to open fire?"

"Denied, Colonel," Zsora said, rising from her seat. "I will destroy this cretin myself."

She stepped off the throne and walked down several invisible steps, drawing her own lightsabers.

The priests put down their load and fell to their knees, bowing deeply and chanting the battle hymn of Sethlos Karthnak and Braknas Odefar. 

"You'll pay for that," Zsora roared through the mask, igniting both lightsabers and connecting their hilts into a dual-ended staff.

The Jedi lifted his own weapon and gripped it tightly with both hands. His teeth gritted into a snarl and he lunged forward to attack.

Zsora lifted her hand and punched the air, rocketing the Force into Jaeden who weathered it with a Force shield. Two quick strides and he was close enough to drive his lightsaber into hers, parrying when she swung around to hit him with the other end.

He leapt back and pushed his palm down into the ground flat. It cracked and webbed and rumbled out from his hand, the lines crisscrossing rapidly, snaking toward Zsora who leapt into the air stepping off a Force hold and slowing her descent with energy crackling from her hands.

She threw herself at the Jedi who turned just in time to parry her powerful strike, their blades shrieking, echoing. Sparks shaved off the light and then Zsora screamed. A powerful noise that tore through the Eastern Plaza and her enemy backed off.

He leapt back, one hand clasped over his bleeding ear but Zsora closed the distance between them with a boost of Force energy she recognised quite well. 

It was rage. Anger. Despair. They fed her in her darkest moments, they warmed her body in the coldest night. And when all was right, they festered, tangling around her heart and rotting into darkness. Something a Jedi would never understand.

Loss.

The loss of a friend. Irreversible, irredeemable. There could be no atonement. 

There could only be revenge.

Her fingers crackled with latent Force energy. She could feel the anger spilling out with every slam of lightsaber against lightsaber. But the Jedi was good. Strong, even. He could see her despair. Feel the mistakes she made at its pull.

And then he hit back.

It was a wave of energy that could not have come from a Jedi. No Light-sided fool would ever dare tap into it. The Dark Force sent her flying off her feet and into a long abandoned market stall. 

Zsora brushed off the debris and got up.

"My, my," she said, pulling the mask off her face. "We've been a bad little Jedi, haven't we?" She smiled.

"You will die by my blade," he sneered, his eyes glowing red.

"That so?" she said, feeling her own burning. The energy was there, pulsing and crackling, eager to escape.

The Jedi scowled and lifted his hand again. The Force was under his command but not entirely under his control. It rushed forward to knock Zsora off her feet but she didn't meet it. 

She switched off her lightsabers and disappeared. Into the void.

The emptiness where the Force could not go, where it took every ounce of strength just to stay standing. But here she could see clearly. The attack. Her enemy.

He was powerful, but inexperienced.

Zsora stepped aside from the Force wave that was rushing to meet her. The energy was laced with the same anger she had been feeling only a moment ago but now it had all but disappeared.

She looked at the body of Cipher Nine lying not far away, the blonde-haired woman cradling his head. Erik was there too, trying to console her, trying to get her to move out of the way of the battle. Their words were slurred but she could make out the intent. And she could make out the minuscule twitch in the Cipher's hand.

Zsora smiled. He'd never been very strong in the Force. It's what made his deaths so convincing. So frequent.

She turned to look at her enemy again. He hadn't noticed. Not the Cipher, not her, nor the Dark Side feeding off his anguish. It was like a leech that could never be satiated. It only grew and blinded its host until it destroyed itself.

Zsora walked over, slowly.

He was confused. Circling. Searching. But not finding.

He could only see through the Force. A dangerous window. And without it?

The braid running down behind Jaeden's ear was suddenly sliced off and Zsora appeared holding the end right in front of him. She grabbed his fist with her other hand and squeezed, crushing his fingers until they dropped the lightsaber.

He cried out but she caught his throat with a Force grip and raised him up into the air.

"You're just a Padawan, aren't you?" she said, examining the braid. "Strong, wilful, yet mindless."

"Kriffin' Sith," he wheezed, rabidly pushing at the Force but Zsora slapped his hand away.

"I'll kill you," he said.

Zsora smirked. 

"Really? That what they teach you in the Jedi Temple these days?"

"No," he hissed. "That's what the Empire taught me. That none of you deserve to live."

"Perhaps not," Zsora considered. "But life isn't about what you deserve, Padawan." Her smile bittersweet.

"It's about what you can take. What you can do and what you give back."

Jaeden kicked out and struggled, sending wave after wave of Dark energy beating against Zsora but she didn't move. The Dark spirits had stirred inside her. They and Lord Polgax had no trouble keeping the energy at bay. And Zsora smiled a little wider.

"Life doesn't care about right or wrong, unfortunately," she said. "Goodbye, little Jedi."

She squeezed her hand into a tight fist and the pressure on Jaeden's head increased a hundred fold. The skin and bone imploded with a sickening crunch and his struggling hands fell by his sides, lifeless and limp.

Zsora let go and the corpse fell to the ground.

She dropped the Padawan braid over his body and walked away, robes flying behind her.

"Sweet dreams."


	36. The Greater Good

"I-I don't understand," Beonard Dontrix wailed. "Who are you?"

"Cipher Nine, Imperial Intelligence," the Chiss said without blinking.

"Never heard of you," the man squeaked, puffing up his purple robes of office. "Where's Watcher 66?"

"That's classified."

"What do you mean classified? She was here yesterday."

"The location of Imperial Intelligence operatives is classified information that cannot be disseminated without proper clearance."

"Proper- Proper clearance?!" Beonard stammered. "I demand to speak to the person in charge."

"I am in charge." The Agent pointed to the rank plaque on his chest.

"I've never seen you before in my life." The Governor's fat cheeks blubbered.

The Chiss remained expressionless and walked over to the holocommunication terminal in the centre of the Council Room. He tapped a few keys and the call began, long and drawn out, a signal attempting to cut through the downpour outside.

Beonard moved closer to the terminal cautiously, waiting for the higher up to pick up the call. The Chiss clasped his hands together behind his back, perfectly postured to tower over the tiny man beside him.

"This is Keeper," the staticy voice answered and a stern woman appeared as a flickering ghost above the terminal. "Who am I speaking to?"

Cipher Nine stepped out of the holorecorder projection area.

"Uh, th-this is Governor Dontrix of-"

"Danisla, yes. We've reviewed your planet's case and decided to comply with the natives," she said, bringing up the file. "The Diplomatic Corp has been despatched and will arrive in a few days to facilitate the peaceful transition of government."

 _"Transition?"_ Dontrix blustered. "But I'm the Governor."

"For now," Keeper said clerically. "The Empire's interest in Danisla has waned. We will be withdrawing troops for the foreseeable future. The Sith Lords have also expressed their inclination to return to Dromund Kaas following the loss of Lord Freasch and Inquisitor Levinus."

"You can't just leave me here," Dontrix demanded hotly. "Who will keep this rabble you've raised in line?" He gave the Chiss a dirty look.

"You will be left with a sizeable contingent of troops to oversee security. Danisla will remain an Imperial world but we have more important concerns right now. Cipher Nine and the rest of Intelligence will handle affairs until the new government is established."

 _"More important concerns?"_ Dontrix wailed. "Lord Kallig just marched thirty thousand people into the city and expects me to treat them like citizens."

"And you will do so," she said calmly. "The Empire exists to serve the Sith. See to it, Governor. Keeper out."

The transmission ended and Beonard was left voicing his concerns to an empty holoterminal.

"As I was saying," the Agent continued. "You will remain Governor in the interim. Once the Diplomatic Corp arrives, the Danislans will choose their own leader. At which time, you will become the new Governor-General."

His fiery eyes glowed brightly in the dark council room and Beonard wondered why no one had bothered to turn on the lights.

"Once the new government of Caralis is established, they can begin to reach out to the rest of the planet's cities and townships. You can expect an influx twice this size by the end of the year."

"More of them?" Beonard blustered. "The city will be practically overrun with primitives."

"This is their home," Cipher Nine reminded him. "And they have willingly submitted to the Empire in order to return here."

"This is preposterous. Half of them are part of the rebellion we've been trying to suppress for near on three years. They should be executed for treason against the Empire!"

"The Empire," the Chiss said calmly, "has declared them citizens. And should you attempt to execute any one of them, it is you, who will be committing treason." His fiery eyes burrowed into him. "Am I understood?"

The fat old governor's lips disappeared into a thin white line, his cheeks heating up with anger but the Chiss did not look concerned.

"Don't think you've won here," the tiny man squeaked. "I will be voicing my displeasure to some very senior officials in Kaas City. The word of Beonard Dontrix holds some considerable weight you'll find." He grinned lasciviously.

"Mark my words, alien," he poked a fat little finger into the Agent's uniform. "By the time I'm finished, you'll be cleaning latrines in a backwater cantina on Hutta."

The Chiss looked down at him.

"I'm sure my old friend, Nemro, will be more than happy to see me again," he said.

"What?"

"Oh, and by the way," he said, adjusting the tight-fitting uniform.

"If anyone, _ever,_ finds out that I was here." His hands disappeared behind his back. "A map of your little smuggling operation in the Outer Rim will find itself into the Imperial Intelligence archives."

""I- I don't know what you're talking about."

The corner of the Agent's mouth curled into a tiny smile.

"I'm sure Keeper will find it very interesting to know that you've been selling off the Empire's arsenal to the Hutts."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I don't know about that," he said, turning to leave. "But I'm sure an anonymous source would be more than willing to share this information."

"Now, see here-"

"I do see," he said, turning sharply. "I see a tiny man that thinks he's entitled to some very big shoes." His fiery eyes glinted menacingly.

"Let me remind you, _sir,_ " he said callously, "that you are not Sith. You are not an Officer. You are a politician. And a bad one, at that."

"I'm not-"

"You were assigned to this forsaken planet because no one wanted you on Dromund Kaas. Least of all, your brother Saliman Dontrix at the Bureau of Logistics."

"Saliman wouldn't-"

"No. But I would." The Chiss narrowed his glowering red eyes. "I am perfectly capable of ending your life, here and now, and mark _my_ words," he said, "no one would ever know you were gone."

"I- I-"

"-will do as you're told," the Chiss said and straightened his back. "I expect the Danislans to be housed and fed by the time the Diplomatic Corp arrives. Is that understood?"

Beonard nodded.

"Yes..." he said reluctantly.

"Good," the Agent nodded. "Perhaps there's hope for you, after all."

He turned to leave.

 _"...alien filth..."_ he heard Beonard mutter under his breath but he didn't care. It was the last loose end he needed to tie up before leaving Danisla. Watcher Sixty-Eight would take over operations. And he had a mission to continue.

He pushed the big oak door to the council room open and walked out into the long halls of the Danislan Council Chambers which were slowly being vacated by anyone important enough to leave. The Sith Apprentices were free from their masters' leash and they wanted nothing more than to return to Dromund Kaas and exercise their freedom.

Lord Kallig had made a compelling arguement about rising up against the old guard. The wizened members of the Dark Council. Darth Thanaton, in particular. There was a war to be waged between them. A war fought in the shadows where he lurked best. Kallig would want to recruit Cipher Nine eventually, as she had done the Sith. And he couldn't say no for reasons involving their fair share of Force Lightning.

Soren sighed and continued onward through the hallways.

"I told you, we need more food and water. People are starving," a man argued.

The Agent slipped silently out of a shadow and appeared behind the stubborn Danislan who was waving a walking stick at an Imperial Requisitions Officer.

"Is there a problem here?" he said quietly.

"Ho!" Erik exclaimed, clutching at his heart. "You scared me."

"Sir," the Officer saluted.

"What's going on?"

"This rebel scu- I mean, this civilian, is demanding more rations than we have allotted for them. At this rate, we'll run out before the rains dry up next season."

"May I?" He beckoned for the datapad in the officer's hand.

"Yes, of course, sir."

"There's a storehouse not far from the citadel where you will find a sufficient stockpile to feed up to two hundred thousand people for the next six months," he said punching in the coordinates. "I expect these rations to be distributed accordingly."

"Uh, yes, sir," the officer said, retrieving his datapad. "Forgive me, but why wasn't I informed about the stockpile before now."

"Perhaps you should ask the Governor about that," the Cipher replied.

"Ah, I see," the officer nodded. "I'll get started right away."

"Carry on." The Agent nodded as the man dashed away.

He turned to leave but then-

"Hey," Erik called out, hobbling after him with his walking stick. "Wait."

Cipher Nine inhaled and exhaled a quiet but long breath and turned to face him.

"Can I help you?"

"Oh," Erik said, stopping rather abruptly. "I just wanted to thank you. We really need that food."

"You're welcome," Nine said, turning once again to leave.

"D-do I know you?" Erik asked slowly.

Soren turned his head to look back at Erik. Hunched and ragged, his hair coloured with more silver than he'd seen two weeks ago.

"No," he said and turned to leave for good this time.

"Wait, you haven't told me your name," Erik called after him.

But he didn't stop to answer and disappeared around the next corner.

"Hey!" he heard distantly but Soren was already halfway down the corridor and another sharp turn carried him out of Erik's line of sight when he decided to follow.

The Agent slowed his steps, making them silent and untraceable. He pulled out his personal holocommunicator and punched in the right frequency, transferring the call to his earpiece.

The soft hum of the communicator rippled through his ear as he walked, his aching back stinging with every step.

"Hullo? Agent, is that you?"

"Yes, Kaliyo, it's me."

"Well, it's about kriffin' time! You finished?"

"Yes, I need a pickup."

"Same place we left ya?"

"Danisla."

"Right..."

"The coordinates are in the navicomputer."

"Yeah, I got it."

"What is it then?"

"I just..." she breathed in. "I missed ya, Blue."

"What have you broken?"

"Nothing!"

"Is it Toovee or the holorecorder?"

"Both..." she admitted.

Soren sighed.

"Just pick me up, Kaliyo. And don't scratch the paint."

"Yessir," she said mockingly.

"Cipher Nine out."

"Buh-bye."

Soren pulled out his datapad and began adding 2V-R8 unit parts to his requisitions list as he continued down the hall to his chambers. He'd just put in an order for a new vocabulator when another holocall came in and he tapped his earpiece.

"Cipher Nine," he said on autopilot.

"Soren?" the word was barely audible over the noise. An intense downpour of rain as he recognised it.

"I'm sorry, you must have the wrong frequency," he said.

"My apologies." The call ended.

He kept walking, scrolling through product reviews on the holonet and after a few minutes the communicator chirped again.

"Cipher?" Zsora said.

"Yes, Lord Kallig. Go ahead."

"How are you?" she asked, the rain drowning out her words.

"Fine."

"Really?"

"Better."

"Better?"

"My back hurts."

"Ah, so you _do_ feel pain."

"Is that why you're calling?"

"No," she said absently. "I wanted to talk to you."

"Are we not talking?"

"Without eyes and ears."

"I see," Soren realised. "Where are you?"

"Outside."

"Yes, I gathered as much."

"The roof."

"Six minutes."

The holocall ended.


	37. Promise

It rained, it poured, it crashed down on Soren as he stepped out onto the roof of High Council Chambers, once the Citadel of Sith. Each drop of water rapped painfully against his head and hammered down on the durasteel floor with a clink. He lifted a hand to shield himself from the downpour but even flexicrete hairspray couldn't hold the midnight blue hair in place.

He took a step forward, beat down by the rain and looked up to see Lord Kallig standing across the way, her form obscured by the multitudes of water lashing down from the sky. He winced and took another step forward, the peal of raindrops deafening in his ears.

"Lord Kallig," he shouted through the din, his voice barely audible.

She turned slowly to face him, her face hidden by a ruined Sith mask. Her robes were soaked down to the last thread and the rain chipped away at her durasteel pauldrons.

She lifted a hand and the rain stopped, no longer beating down on him but still going strong around them. He looked up and saw the invisible domed shield that was keeping it at bay. A trick of the Force.

"You wanted to talk," he said, pushing the wet hair out of his face.

"Yes," she nodded. "Run your little scans and be quick about it."

Soren pulled out his datapad and connected the portable sensor array to the left socket. It took several minutes to scan the area but there was so much interference from the weather that none of the results were of any consequence.

"It's clear," he said.

"Good," Kallig nodded.

And then she took of the mask.

The durasteel peeled off and let her silver hair fall to her shoulders, her pale face grim.

"What I have to tell you stays between us," she said very seriously.

"Naturally." Soren was no stranger to secrets and those that entered his head, seldom found a way out.

"We are both complicit in what happened here so I know I can trust you," she began.

"If you're trying to blackmail me then I'm afraid you're outmatched," Soren said, anticipating betrayal.

Zsora looked up at him with her bright blue eyes, searching for a trace of empathy but found none hidden on his face.

"What do you have on me?" she asked.

"Everything," Soren said plainly. "And a few things I doubt you even know about yourself."

"Good." Zsora nodded.

"Good?"

"Yes," she said. "You're exactly the man I need."

Soren felt his eyebrow rise slightly before he reeled it back in.

"For what purpose exactly?"

Zsora looked straight into his fiery red eyes and said in all seriousness, "I need you to kill me."

Soren frowned.

"I'm afraid you've got the wrong man." He shook his head.

"Don't be modest," she said. "You went toe to toe with Darth Jadus."

"No one is ever going to let me live that down, are they?"

"Don't you realise how remarkable that is?" Zsora asked with her hands as much as her words. "A man so weak in the Force he's practically a walking corpse, facing down one of the most powerful Sith in the galaxy."

"Corpse?" he said, feeling a little insulted.

"No offense."

Soren shook his head.

"It was one time. And I didn't even beat him. Just trapped him behind some energy shields."

"It'll do." Zsora waved, brushing his reluctance aside.

"I'm not going to kill you," Soren told her frankly, folding his arms.

"Why not?" Zsora pestered

"It's not my part of my job description."

"Not yet it isn't."

Soren clenched his teeth together.

"I know you're loyal to Imperial Intelligence," she said. "I know that if they gave the order, you would hunt me down and kill me."

"All of this is hypothetical." He raised a hand to deny culpability.

"I need that loyalty," she said, grabbing onto his hand. "I need you to stop me if I go overboard." Her eyes pleaded.

She let her head fall and sighed.

"I don't want to end up like Freasch," she said quietly. "I don't want to get lost in the darkness. But I know it's a possibility."

"I'm not a mercenary," Soren told her. "I don't do kills for cash."

"I don't need a mercenary, Soren. I need a friend," Zsora said earnestly, squeezing his hand. "Please."

He shook his head.

"This is ridiculous. I'm not going to kill you."

"Not now. Maybe not ever," she shrugged. "But if the time comes when I am no longer in my right mind, if I am not acting in the best interest of the Empire, I need you to do it."

Soren stared down at her sad blue eyes. She was serious.

He turned away and looked out over the edge of the roof. The rain was coming down hard onto every surface imaginable. The city of Caralis and its ruined rings stretched out into the distance but he could barely see them through the downpour.

"What do you have in mind for it?" he asked quietly. "The Empire, I mean."

Zsora smiled.

"Change," she said. "Maybe not overnight, but in a year? Two? A decade? More? However long it takes."

"What sort of change?"

Zsora walked over to the balustrade and put down her mask.

"Kind of like the ones we made here," she said. "The Empire doesn't need to use brute force to expand or grow stronger. It needs stability, strong leadership and organisation."

"Loyalty. Unity." Soren walked up beside her and leaned on the balustrade, his aching back reminding him of the consequences of his actions.

"We have to stop being afraid of change. We have to stop stabbing each other in the back." She looked over suddenly. "Sorry."

"It's alright, it wasn't that deep."

"Armour plating?"

"Something like that."

Zsora shook her head. She looked out over the city of Caralis, at the ruined Outer Ring. Wet rubble and stone, blood washing away their crimes.

"I hate it," she said. "I hate the Sith Empire and what it does to people."

Soren turned his head to look at her.

"Why do you do it, then?" he said. "Why do you keep fighting for something you hate?"

She turned to look at him solemnly, her mechanical eyelids brimming with tears.

"Because this is my hell," she said, "but it's also my home."

She leaned into his chest and he put an arm around her shoulder.

"Mmm." He hugged her close.

"Promise me," she said.

"I promise."

"Thank you," she whispered. "Friend."


End file.
